


tales of a walk

by metaleaterz



Series: and how mighty it can be [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: CanEm - Freeform, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hogwarts Era, M/M, MWPP, Marauders, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Slow Burn, Third Year, Young James Potter, Young Peter Pettigrew, Young Remus Lupin, Young Sirius Black, jily, mostly - Freeform, part three of a series, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2020-11-25 20:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 87,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20918159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaleaterz/pseuds/metaleaterz
Summary: “Oh, look at us,” Peter says once they separate. “Almost completely all together again. Regulus can be Remus’ stand-in until he gets here,” he continues, gesturing vaguely at Regulus, who’s been standing off to the side a bit awkwardly.“I don’t know how to do that,” Regulus says, crossing his arms. “I’ve only even seen Remus like, once.”“Well, look no further,” Remus’ voice says, somewhat anticlimactically. He's similarly made it through the crowd, and Sirius’ expression, which had originally been an expression of delight just like when he’d seen Peter, changes to surprise when he notes how significantly taller Remus has become over the past few months. “There’ll be no replacing me yet.”-1973. The Marauders head back to Hogwarts for another year. The story continues.





	1. in which kreacher inspects the ancient and most noble house of black for dust

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello and welcome back to the ahmicb-verse for year three! we are officially moving into what's going to start becoming the more interesting years. as usual, i upload once a week (sundays) and can't wait to share what i have with you guys!
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who has read 'and how mighty it can be' and 'call me a friend' so far, i really really really appreciate all of your support!! if you came across 'tales of a walk' but haven't read the other two, this is an ongoing series from 1971-1981, so i would really recommend starting with ahmicb. beginning at the beginning is always the best bet!!
> 
> if you have any other questions or comments, please let me know! kudos and comments are very much appreciated and they make me feel good :) you can also reach me on my twitter @gryfffsirius, my instagram @emmakmarie, and my tumblr @siriusorioff. i don't know how to include links in this description, but that's all my information. enjoy!! thanks for stopping by!!
> 
> as always, this is for jamie.

Upon hearing the ringing of the doorbell, Sirius runs down the stairs so quickly that he trips twice and actually vaults over Kreacher as he makes his way down to answer it.

“Master Sirius –” the house elf croaks, ducking as Sirius leaps over his head.

“I got it, Kreacher, don’t worry about it,” Sirius calls over his shoulder, skidding through the foyer.

“Sirius, what have I told you about running in the house?” he hears his mother shout from one of the landings, two floors up, he estimates.

“To not do it!” he yells back. “Sorry!”

He’s stopped running at this point, purely because he’s reached the front door. Sirius pauses for a moment to catch his breath, but nearly immediately afterwards flings the door open to reveal James Potter standing on the step, a duffel bag in hand and a grin on his face.

“Good morning, arsehole,” Sirius says, leaning against the door frame. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

James laughs. “Why is it that every time I see one of my friends after an excruciatingly unbearable time apart, I get called some sort of name?”

Sirius shrugs. “It’s tradition at this point. I mean, I think it’s only happened once, but I can guarantee that Remus and Pete will do it when we see them again.” He steps back and opens the door wider so that James can come in. “What, did your mum and dad just drop you off?”

“No, I took the Knight Bus,” James says as he shoulders his bag and steps inside. The minute he’s through the door, he pulls Sirius into a crushing hug; Sirius notes with some dismay that in the month they’ve been apart, for every inch Sirius grew, he thinks James grew two. “Decided to try and be adventurous and figure out getting places on my own, and it isn’t like they couldn’t take me exactly where I needed to go. Whoa,” he says, letting go of Sirius and looking around.

“_Whoa_ what?” Sirius repeats, shutting the door and leading the way further into the house.

“Tall ceilings,” James says, looking up. “Also, side note, very… classical décor.”

Sirius lets out a quick laugh. “It’s okay, it’s decorated like the Victorian era, you can say it.”

James shrugs, then says in a high pitched voice, “No, I wasn’t gonna say anything, I just think it’s very traditional.”

“Yeah, that’s the point, I think. My mum wants to redo it but I don’t think she can reconcile tearing everything out. You know, generations of our family have lived here, it’s a part of our history, et cetera. Speaking of which, you should come and like, properly meet her.”

“I’m scared,” James says, in a voice that sounds like he isn’t scared at all, or maybe that he is, a bit, and he’s just saying that. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Nonsense, you’re from a respectable, super pureblood family, what could go wrong?” Sirius says, waving his hand through the air nonchalantly. “Come on, we’ll go drop your things in my room and go see her, I think she’s in the parlor.”

“You have a _parlor_? What is this, 1862?”

“Shut up, come on.” They head up the steps, stepping past Kreacher, who’s just reaching the ground floor. “Kreacher, this is James, he’s staying with us for the week,” Sirius says as they pass.

Kreacher gives James a very critical look but bows stiffly and says, somewhat reluctantly, “Kreacher is here to serve,” before shuffling off with his feather duster in hand.

James watches him go before starting up the stairs again. “Why didn’t he just Apparate down the stairs? He doesn’t seem like his knees are that great.”

“I don’t know. He’s really stubborn. He was probably inspecting the banisters for specks of dust.”

“Did you see the way he looked at me?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. He doesn’t like strangers. Come to think of it, I don’t think he even likes me and he’s known me since birth.”

They reach the second floor and Sirius signals James to head in the direction of the parlor, a little bit down the hall. He pokes his head around the frame of the door for a fraction of a moment and then just as quickly moves it back to direct his attention to James.

“Okay, she has a guest.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Sirius grimaces. “Not really, but it’s my aunt Druella and they’re no doubt talking about family shit and together they get very critical, so just. Mate, tuck in your shirt.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, Druella will pick you apart, just – James did you come straight from your bed? Do you own a comb?”

James reaches up and pats his hair. “It just does this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Sirius says. “I just don’t want to give my parents an excuse to tell me that I shouldn’t be hanging around with you, you know? I mean, we already pretty much know what they think of Pete and Remus.”

“Sirius?” his mother’s voice says from inside the room. “Are you going to continue lingering in the hallway or are you going to bring your friend in and introduce us?”

“Coming,” he replies in a slightly raised voice. “Let’s go,” he whispers to James, who raises his eyebrows but follows Sirius into the parlor.

Sirius thinks that maybe he was a little harsh to James just now. There’s something profoundly weird about being in his home with James, especially after what they found out after exams at the end of last term. He knows that he’s not doing anything wrong, that James is actually probably a viable choice of friend in the eyes of his family, that as long as neither of them make waves, there shouldn’t be a problem.

Despite that knowledge, Sirius can’t stop thinking about what Narcissa had told him and what that means going forward.

Sirius isn’t stupid. He knows that he’s rapidly approaching the age when he’s going to start being included in the discussions that his father has with who he can only refer to as his business partners. Sirius doesn’t think his father counts any of them as his friends. But he knows that someday soon, he’s going to be invited into the meetings, into the small circle that he’d eavesdropped on that Christmas, and the more he thinks about it, the less he wants to be involved in that group at all.

He wants things to stay the way they are. He wants his friends to be his friends and he wants his parents to like them. He wants James to make a good impression on his parents and he wants them to like Peter and Remus just as much when they someday meet them properly as well. And maybe, he wants to get to the point with his family that maybe they’ll be willing to let tradition go for long enough to expand their social circle and open themselves up to more than just the same conversations with the same people, day after day, year after year.

This is why he thinks introducing James to his mother and having it go well might be a good place to start. He isn’t sure at all how effective it might be, but he thinks he should at least try.

His mother is sitting on the sofa with his aunt Druella on the opposite end. Both of them look up when the boys enter, Druella with an undisguised expression of curiosity and his mother with guarded eyes but a small smile.

Sirius feels like he’s presenting something he’s worked hard on to a committee. “Mum, Aunt Druella, this is my friend, James Potter.”

James doesn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly a little intimidated by the sight of Walburga Black, the picture of class and elegance and old fucking money, seated on the sofa with impeccable posture and an outfit that Sirius thinks is far too formal for a Tuesday afternoon but is ordinary for her. That isn’t surprising, _Sirius_ is intimidated and he’s spent the majority of his life in the company of both of these women.

Sirius clears his throat, just barely, and James says, “Oh! Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” and reaches out to shake both of their hands.

“Aren’t you darling,” Sirius’ mother says, her smile turning into more of a real one. “You’re in Sirius’ year, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” James replies, eyes a little wide behind his glasses. “We’re roommates.”

“Your parents,” Druella interrupts, leaning forward a little. Sirius’ mother glances over to his aunt but she doesn’t speak. “Is your father Fleamont Potter? The potioneer?”

“Yes, he is,” James replies after a beat. “But he’s retired now, he sold Sleekeazy’s when I was born.”

“Well, we all have our roots in commerce somewhere,” Druella replies dismissively, and Sirius doesn’t like the way she’s speaking to James, but he doesn’t say anything.

There’s a bit of a pause. James says quickly, as though to make sure the silence doesn’t stretch for too long, “Thank you for opening your home to me, I’m very glad to be able to visit Sirius.”

“Of course, dear, you’re very welcome in our home. And of course, I assume you’ll be attending the end of summer party at the manor with us on Saturday.”

“Oh, of course,” James replies, remarkably smoothly, especially given that Sirius had completely forgotten to tell him about that. “I’ve been looking forward to it all summer.”

His mother smiles at James again and seems to be trying not to laugh. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful evening. Sirius, why don’t you take our guest to your room to get settled in?”

“Okay, thanks,” Sirius replies, grabbing James’ arm to kickstart his steps out of the room.

“It was nice to meet you,” James manages as they leave the room.

“Well,” Sirius says as soon as they’re back in the hall and climbing another set of stairs to get to the bedrooms. “That went well.”

“Did it? Did they hate me?”

Sirius laughs a little bit. “I don’t know. Maybe. It didn’t seem like it. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Thanks, mate, that’s really encouraging.”

They reach Sirius’ room, pausing at the closed door for a moment before Sirius says, “So, just a warning, I've literally never had anyone over in my room who hasn’t known me since birth, so I don’t know if they décor is weird or not.”

James snorts. “Why would the décor be weird?”

“I don’t know! I’m not an interior decorator! My mum designed the bedroom.” Sirius opens the door and pushes it open, leading the way inside.

“Was that the only part of the house that she could control?” James asks, a hint of a laugh running through his words. “The parlor was something else.”

“Just wait until you see the manor house,” Sirius replies as James sets his bag down on the floor by the wardrobe. “It’s... an experience.”

“Well, let me just say, I can’t wait for that,” James says. He stands up from putting down his bag and looks around. “Oh, this is nice.”

Sirius looks around as well. James is right. His room does look quite nice, most noticeably because Sirius actually cleaned up the clothes that he’d had strewn across the floor mere hours previously. He knows that Kreacher could tidy everything for him, but to be honest, Sirius doesn’t like the idea of someone being in his room and touching his things and moving them around, even if it’s Kreacher’s job to do that. Sirius will concede to letting Kreacher do the washing, but any other circumstance of someone rifling through his space, even for the sake of cleaning, is something that makes him feel uneasy.

Maybe it’s just his less than stellar relationship with the house-elf, but Sirius has just always had a firm closed-door policy. That being said, it’s made it a bit easier to sparingly decorate his room how he’d like to, given that he’s the only one who really goes in and out. It's this decoration that James is surveying currently, taking in the little Gryffindor banner above Sirius’ bed and the collection of papers and photographs pinned on the corkboard across from the wardrobe next to the bookshelf and the framed, immobile photo of the four of them at the end of their first year that Peter had managed to take by setting up a timer, just before they’d gotten on the train to head home.

Sirius likes that picture a lot. He thinks there’s something kind of fascinating about the fact that Muggle photos take an instant in time and freeze it, and that nothing will ever be like that again. However, Sirius won’t exactly complain about things not being like that again; he’s got shorter hair in that picture than he’s grown to like and as he remembers it, there was a spot on his nose that’s gone undetectable purely because of the angle of the photo, and Sirius would like to avoid having to have that particular spot again if possible.

But this picture had been the one he’d chosen to get blown up slightly so that he could have it framed mostly because of the way his friends had looked. James' smile was huge and his glasses had been flashing in the light, his arm around Peter’s shoulders and latched onto Remus’ arm slightly, the only one properly posing for the picture; Peter looked as though he’d been a bit preoccupied by positioning people correctly for the photo but had been caught mid-laugh as Sirius had reached across Remus to poke him in the stomach, causing him to double over slightly; Remus had already been taller than the rest of them and had not been looking at the camera at all, his attention caught by Peter’s laugh and one of his own on his way out of his mouth, the morning light making his freckles stand out; Sirius had been on the end, ducking low, reaching for Peter but still managing to turn towards the camera with a cheesy smile of his own.

He thinks he might like that picture most of all because it was something that only belonged to the four of them; they hadn’t asked anyone to help them take it and pretty much everyone had already been on the train. It was a moment that had just been for them.

James makes a beeline for the picture, weaving past the little cot that they’d set up on Sirius’ floor for him. He picks up the frame and looks intently at the picture, then says, “Ha! You look like an egg.”


	2. in which james learns how to tie a bow tie (sort of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey we r back again and a day earlier than i had promised before! this is because tomorrow i'm going to be travelling all day so i won't have the time, energy, or internet connection to get this uploaded. anyway here's yet another chapter before we get to hogwarts!! brace yourself for even more content involving the ancient and most noble house of black ;)
> 
> as usual, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!! thank you for everyone who has left them so far, i really appreciate all of your support and i love you lots !!
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

“I don’t know, Sirius,” James says, frowning at his own reflection, “I think I look like a bit of a twat.”

From the mirror’s edge, Sirius’ face comes into view. “That’s just because you’ve never seen yourself wearing dress robes and with your hair actually combed.”

“That’s not true, both of these things have happened to me before. I was the ring bearer for my aunt Imelda’s wedding when I was seven.”

Sirius makes a skeptical face in the mirror. James tries not to let it throw him off. He's concentrating too hard on his bow tie for that. “Okay, yeah, but you’re thirteen now, it’s all different. We have spots and voice cracks and other shit.”

“Where’s the we in spots?” James grumbles. “You look great.”

“You know what, and maybe you would too if you washed your face once in a while.”

James turns from the mirror to face Sirius. “Washing my face has nothing to do with it. It’s in my blood, I'm predisposed to oily skin!”

“And that’s why you have to – oh, fuck, look at your tie, it’s awful,” Sirius says, laughing. “James, that’s just a big knot.”

James turns back to the mirror and glances down at his tangled mess of a bow tie. It looks like someone just balled up a big lump of fabric and stuck it on his collar. “Do you think anyone will notice?”

Sirius snorts. “Come on, we can ask my parents.”

“Or Kreacher,” James suggests hopefully. “We could ask Kreacher to help.”

“What, are you scared to ask my parents?”

“No,” James lies.

It is a lie. He’s been at Sirius’ house for four days so far, but James has yet to have a conversation with Mr. Black that lasts more than thirty seconds and doesn’t involve answering some sort of question about school and which classes he chose to take this coming term or about his father’s career or about what he thinks of the current Minister (and to be honest, James can’t even _name_ the current Minister, so he just goes off of the motions that Sirius mimes behind his father’s back). Mrs. Black isn’t much better. James feels slightly more comfortable around her, and it’s clear that Sirius loves her and is much closer to her than he is with his father, but James isn’t even her child and the height of her expectations still make him feel a bit sick with anxiety. He doesn’t know how Sirius can stand it.

And that isn’t even considering the whole potential support of You-Know-Who thing. James hasn’t had the courage to bring that up in the entire time that he’s been here, and Sirius hasn’t mentioned it, so he’s just kept his mouth shut about it.

However, it’s mere hours before they need to head off to the Black family manor house in the countryside – where the fuck _the countryside_ actually is, James has no clue, everyone’s just been extremely vague about real locations this whole time – and James is more stressed about meeting Sirius’ extended family members plus other people of high wizarding society than he’s ever been. He’s more stressed than when Bratum cornered them in that hallway. Hell, he’s more stressed than when his mum caught him sneaking a handful of Ice Mice from one of the bins in Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop on one of the first trips to Diagon Alley that he can actually remember. He must have been about five, and all James remembers is his mother turning around to see where he’d disappeared to and her eyes visibly widening with shock and anger when she’d caught him with one hand in the bin and the other shoving an Ice Mouse into his mouth. He'd tried to deny his guilt, but the sugar around his mouth had betrayed him.

James feels like this now. They haven’t even left Sirius’ room, much less his house, and he feels out of place and wrong and like he’s about to be introduced to the in-laws for the first time. James feels like he should have studied for this. He feels like he should be more graceful, more educated, better looking, smoother-tongued. He wishes he had learned how to hold proper conversations. He wishes his accent was posher. He wishes he was as nice-looking as Sirius.

He doesn’t wish he _was_ Sirius. He likes himself and who he is. But right now, he just wishes he knew what to do and how to carry himself like Sirius does.

Unfortunately, James doesn’t know shit, and as much as Sirius has tried to prepare him and reassure him and tell him that everything will be alright and that he just has to follow his lead, James is still scared, and he’s painfully aware that the first challenge of today is just speaking to Mr. and Mrs. Black.

“You’re a liar,” Sirius replies easily. “They don’t bite. And trust me, they want you to look just as presentable as you do, so it isn’t like either of them are going to leave you hanging.”

They head down the hallway to the master bedroom, and Sirius knocks lightly before poking his head in. “Mum? Dad? Can you help us with something?”

“What is it, Sirius, we’re in the middle of getting ready,” Mr. Black’s voice says through the door. “Are you bleeding?”

“No, but –"

“Is something on fire?”

“No, Dad, I –"

“Orion, stop being difficult, let them in,” Mrs. Black says, and the door opens wider.

Mr. Black is standing at the door, a hint of a smile around the corner of his mouth. As James follows Sirius into the room, he sees Mrs. Black seated at a vanity table by the window, applying perfume to her wrists. She catches sight of them in the mirror and turns around on her seat, a soft little gasp coming out of her mouth in faux surprise.

“Well, don’t you boys look so handsome,” she says in a velvety voice, and James thinks he might have a little bit of a crush on her. He's trying to squash that emotion. The infuriating thing about Sirius’ mum is that mums are not supposed to look like that. James doesn’t know how to describe her properly, just that sometimes the way she speaks to him makes his heart beat a little faster, and she has very guarded expressions but when you look at her eyes it tells you exactly what she’s feeling, and she’s very beautiful, and he thinks if he were to try to talk about that the first thing he would say would be that she has a swan-like neck.

The only disconcerting thing – aside from the fact that she’s twenty-five years older than him (ish, he thinks) and married to a very important, intimidating man – is that Sirius looks a lot like her, and if James thinks about that too much, it’s weird.

“Sirius needs a haircut,” Mr. Black says, shutting the door and heading back into the bathroom to finish combing his hair. “He should get a trim before we go.”

“Oh, Dad, come on, no!” Sirius protests, reaching up with both hands and clutching at his dark curls. “Please don’t, I'll look like an idiot and people from school will be there.”

“Exactly, people from school _will_ be there, and you need to make a good impression,” Mrs. Black says. “James cleaned up nicely, why can’t you?”

“That’s because James likes having short, easy hair, that’s his thing.”

“I dunno, it just grows like this,” James says. “I mean, I combed it today. Took a lot of Sleekeazy’s to make it stay like this, but I didn’t do anything special.”

Mrs. Black smiles at him. “Darling, the fact that you did something at all is special, and I greatly appreciate your effort.” She pauses, seeming to notice his contortion of a tie. “Did you come in here for help with your tie?”

“Oh,” James says, looking down. “Um, yeah, I tried, and now I think I need help untangling it before I can even try to get it going again.”

Sirius takes a seat on the little tufted bench at the foot of the bed as Mrs. Black reaches behind her onto her vanity, picking up her wand. She signals for James to step closer and then taps his mess of a tie once and it untangles and then re-ties itself.

“Whoa,” he says, looking at it in the mirror behind her. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Black replies, a little laugh in her words. “It’s a handy little trick, isn’t it?” She leans in closer and looks between the boys conspiratorially before whispering, “Mr. Black hasn’t tied his tie by hand in _years_.”

“I heard that,” Mr. Black calls from the bathroom as the three of them laugh. “Why are you slandering me? Look, I can tie a tie,” he continues, stepping out of the bathroom while doing that exact thing.

“It looks pretty wonky to me, Dad,” Sirius says, and Mr. Black throws his hands in the air in mock frustration.

“Alright, well, I wasn’t looking in the mirror, give me a break.”

Before an hour passes – but an hour filled with Sirius getting practically tied down so his parents could give him a haircut while James and Regulus watch – the family is making their way downstairs so that they can do final checks before Apparating to the manor house. Sirius won’t stop running his hand over his hair; it isn’t even that short, but he’s acting as though his mother shaved him bald.

“Are you good?” James asks in amusement as they stand in the foyer, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Black to get their coats and hats and other accoutrements situated before they can leave.

“No. I hate this,” Sirius replies sulkily. “I look like a miniature businessman. I’m not a businessman, James.”

“Of course you aren’t, you don’t have the work ethic for that,” James says. Regulus snorts. “Thanks for the support.”

“Certainly,” Regulus replies, with remarkable decorum for an eleven-year-old.

Regulus has largely kept to himself for the time that James has been staying over. In fact, James thinks he usually only sees him at mealtimes, but Sirius had assured him that it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“He’s a quiet kid, he likes to read,” Sirius had said, talking through his scales on the piano. It had been one of his afternoon practices, and James, who’s never played an instrument before in his life, had been fascinated by the ease with which Sirius’ fingers had danced across the keys that only comes from years of practice. “Honestly, the only reason we _do_ see him at dinner is because Mum and Dad are big on family dinners. Everyone has to sit down together every night no matter how busy we are.”

“What, is that not normal?” James had asked. He hadn’t known any other kind of set up; he assumes it’s different for people who have parents who work, but he’d never know what that’s like either.

Sirius had shrugged, turning his last set of scales into a melody that James almost recognized. “I dunno. I kind of thought it was. I don’t think Remus and Pete do that, though.”

The thoughts of Remus and Peter bring James back to the events of the evening. It’s odd to be doing something that feels big without them. It almost feels wrong. James thinks that this is the most out of place he’s felt in a long time, and they haven’t even gotten to the party.

James can tell that he’s going to be supremely uncomfortable. He knows that Sirius will be too; he doesn’t think that anyone in their right mind would be _comfortable_ going to something like this and having to answer the questions of a million people who he’s never met yet who will seem to know too much about him already. Sirius had warned him that word travels fast in their little circles, so it’s likely that everyone of consequence knows everything about him that he’d told anyone in the house. Parents talk to parents, house-elves talk to house-elves, and the heir to a quickly grown and staggeringly large fortune belonging to a consistently respectable yet previously insignificant family, James Potter, attending their end of summer party, was far more than enough to make tongues start to wag.

They link arms tightly and Apparate in little groups to the manor house: James and Sirius with Mrs. Black and Regulus with Mr. Black. James tries not to let the impressiveness of the manor stun him, but it looks like something out of a fantasy book. Or a history book. James has spent a lot of time in one particular castle, and this doesn’t look like that, but it looks like it belongs to some sort of very influential lord from the olden days.

He doesn’t think lords still live in houses like this. Probably because all of these houses belong to the wizarding elite or have been turned into places of historical significance.

They walk up the drive and into the house and someone opens the doors for them before they get too close so that they don’t have to slow their paces at all, and when they enter the main hall, someone with a booming voice announces their entrance. It’s interesting how James feels simultaneously inappropriately included by having his name announced just after Regulus’, yet significantly out of place by being tacked onto the end of the family as just _Mr. James Potter_.

The phrasing of his name makes him sound like some sort of adult or person of importance or something. James, walking through this room of very well dressed, very influential people, is very aware of the fact that he is neither of those things.

He must look nervous or something, because Sirius turns, seeming to notice something about his face, and is stepping closer to him in an instant. “Are you okay?” he whispers, and James does something with his mouth that he hopes indicates how precisely in-between the realms of okay and not okay he is.

“Peachy,” James replies instead, and suddenly, it seems, the night is in motion.

It goes by faster than James had really been expecting, the entire party only really being memorable in snapshots. Fancy dinner, hushed conversations, being asked questions about school, speaking to people he doesn’t know, being silent around far more people while he and Sirius mingle after dinner is over, watching Mrs. Black parade Regulus around the room instead of Sirius because he’s about to start his first year at school and he needed to be introduced to people, Sirius saying that he’s so glad that the reins have been loosened a little but still looking almost a little miffed at the attention Regulus is getting yet simultaneously having to mask his irritation when yet another old person comes over to ask him questions that James doesn’t understand. James had hoped that some of their friends from school might be here, but he comes to realize that while he knows Dorcas and Marlene, at least, come from respectable pureblood families, he thinks they’re more like his family than Sirius’. He's heard the phrase _the sacred twenty-eight_ thrown around before, but he hadn’t really thought anything of it before tonight. Now, though, after realizing that he keeps hearing the same last names and seeing the same faces over and over and over again, James understands Sirius’ frustration with these parties. He’s only been to one, and he’s certain that all of them are the same.

The evening commences. Dancing with people he doesn’t know, more polite conversation, tiny desserts, Mr. Black disappearing to talk business, James and Sirius sitting on the floor in a hallway that they’d found that didn’t seem to have anyone in it, making fun of the artwork on the walls.

“So, technically this is your family’s house too,” James says after they’d run out of paintings of sour old wizards to insult. It had gotten less fun after the portraits had started insulting them back.

“Yeah,” Sirius replies, lying on the ground, feet against the wall. “But you remember my aunt Druella? She lives here with my uncle Cygnus and my cousins.”

“Which cousins?”

“Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa,” Sirius says, ticking them off on his fingers. “Well, Bella just got married, so not her anymore. But Andromeda and Narcissa live here.”

“How are they related to you?”

“Cygnus is my mum’s brother. Why is this so interesting to you?”

“You have a million relatives, I live with just my parents. It's cool to learn about big families,” James replies. “Who’s the oldest?”

“My mum, then Cygnus, then my other uncle Alphard. There's something in archaic wizarding law that says the properties go to the oldest child still bearing the family name, and I guess my mother wasn’t about to give up the ancestral family home if she were to marry someone _not_ from the ancient and most noble house of Black, so that’s where my father comes in.”

James snorts. “Wouldn’t that be some sort of a scandal?”

Sirius shrugs. “Nah. Not really. They aren’t very closely related, they just had the same like. Great-grandparents or something. Anyway, my dad’s side had all the money, so most people thought it was a strategic move on their parts. Now they technically own both the houses, even though Cygnus and Druella live here, and Reg and I will get all the money when they die.”

“Strategic, but still weird.”

“Yeah, I guess. The old pureblood families are all interrelated, though, which is why no one really cared.” Sirius pauses to sigh heavily. “They’re probably gonna match me up with some pre-approved, rich, respectable girl before either of us are twenty, if they haven’t already got something lined up.”

“Yikes,” James says mildly. “Well, I can try and get you out of that, but I don’t know how much influence I'll be able to have over that decision.”

“Probably none, but you can at least be my best man or something.”

“Aw, thanks, Sirius, you can be mine, too.”

They sit for a moment without speaking, James’ head still spinning a bit from everything that’s been going on today, for the past week or so. It’s almost hard for him to process that they’ll be going back to school next week. James isn’t sure if he’s particularly looking forward to going back to Hogwarts itself, or just to seeing his friends, but he’s ready for it to happen anyway.

As if Sirius had read his mind, he sighs again and says, “I miss Pete and Remus,” before swinging his body around, standing up and holding a hand out to James to take and pull himself up, and changing the subject entirely. “Let’s go sneak into the kitchen.


	3. in which regulus is a fifth wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone i'm sorry for the late upload i had a really bad day but here's the new chapter. i love u all lots xxx
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

At this point, it’s no surprise to Sirius that the platform is unbearably loud and crowded at a quarter to eleven on the first of September, but just because it’s expected doesn’t mean it’s enjoyed. As uncomfortable as the sensation of Apparating is, Sirius is infinitely glad that they don’t have to use any other forms of transportation to get to the station, and that there’s a designated space for Apparition that is blocked off so that no one can stand there for long.

Sirius is impatient to get to the train and for he and James to see their friends, so after some quick hugs to his parents and after waiting for James to thank them for allowing him to stay over, they’re making their way over to the train with their trunks dragging along behind them within two minutes of reaching the platform.

“Should we wait for Regulus?” James asks, looking behind them. “It’s his first year, do you think he needs help?”

Sirius stands up from shoving his trunk into the luggage compartment on the first car they’d come to. “I mean, yeah,” he says, standing on his tiptoes to see through the crowd. “Oi, Regulus!” he shouts, and his brother’s head turns in his direction. “Come here!”

Regulus manages to make it all the way over to them before Sirius notices the unimpressed expression on his face. “_Oi_? What am I, a tavern wench?”

“Is that the first place where your brain goes?” Sirius asks incredulously. “It’s a sound that has the sole purpose of getting people’s attention, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Regulus replies, but he’s smiling a little and Sirius isn’t sure why.

“Do you want to sit with us?” Sirius asks. The three of them work together to shove Regulus’ trunk into the luggage compartment, which is significantly easier with six hands. “You’re more than welcome to, I just don’t know if you have anything lined up with friends or something.”

“You have _friends_ before coming to school?” James asks. “Wow, that’s impressive, I only knew the kids from my Quidditch team, and I wouldn’t consider any of them friends.”

“You don’t consider _who _your friends? Oh, James, I _do_ hope you’re not talking shit about me,” comes a familiar voice, and Sirius turns to see Peter approaching.

“Pete!” Sirius calls, a grin breaking out on his face. He rushes forward and envelops his friend in a hug. “I missed you, I'm so happy to see you!”

“I missed you too,” Peter replies, laughing, voice slightly muffled by the position his face has ended up in against Sirius’ shoulder. “Jesus, James, what did you do to him, that he’s this desperate to see someone besides you?”

“I did _nothing,_ you wanker, we had a _wonderful _time. It's been improved already by your presence, even though the first thing you do is insult me,” James replies, stepping in for a hug as Sirius lets go of Peter.

“Oh, look at us,” Peter says once they separate. “Almost completely all together again. Regulus can be Remus’ stand-in until he gets here,” he continues, gesturing vaguely at Regulus, who’s been standing off to the side a bit awkwardly.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Regulus says, crossing his arms. “I’ve only even _seen_ Remus like, once.”

“Well, look no further,” Remus’ voice says, somewhat anticlimactically. He's similarly made it through the crowd, and Sirius’ expression, which had originally been an expression of delight just like when he’d seen Peter, changes to surprise when he notes how significantly taller Remus has become over the past few months. “There’ll be no replacing me yet.”

Sirius is aware that summer, being the two months of the year that all of them spend apart, is bound to bring changes in all of them. He's not surprised that, as far as he can see, all of his friends and himself have grown quite a bit and are moving further and further away from being seen as kids. He knows that because he hasn’t seen his friends in two months, that change in height and face and overall lankiness is going to be pronounced by the time apart, as well as the rapid rate of growth that’s to be expected at their age. Sirius doesn’t think he himself grew that much, maybe like two inches – at the very least, he’s still taller than Peter – and James has been taller than him for a while, but the changes in their various sizing and that of everyone else in their year doesn’t exactly hit Sirius until he sees Remus.

“Jesus fuck,” Peter says, smiling, stepping towards Remus and hugging him, their height difference almost comical, “did you get leg extensions, or are you secretly related to a giant?”

Peter’s right. Sirius thinks Remus has grown at least half a foot. He's always been tall, but it seems like this summer his height just rocketed upwards. His hair has gotten distinctly curlier as well; Sirius doesn’t know if that’s just a factor of growing up or that because it’s longer than it was when they left school last term, it’s started to spiral a little bit.

James hugs Remus tightly, and Sirius has never fucking felt smaller, even though there’s nothing he can do about his own height. Fuck, he can’t get over how _tall_ Remus is. He feels weird – this strange little buzzing somewhere between his throat and his heart, like he needs to sit down or drink some water or something. Remus looks at him just then just as the dizziness of his organs swoops down to his stomach, and Sirius wonders if this is jealousy, or if he’s just about to be sick.

“Hey,” Remus says.

“Hey yourself,” Sirius replies, and the feeling dissipates. They hug each other for a moment just as the whistle blows. “Shit, we don’t even have a compartment.”

Remus snorts. “How long have the three – oh, wait, four, hi, Regulus – of you been standing here without getting on the train?”

“Okay, the length of time is beside the point,” James says dismissively, waving a hand through the air. “We were waiting for you and Pete.”

“That’s so kind of you, James,” Peter says, patting him on the arm. “Now let’s go, we’re gonna have to sit with some spotty first years if we don’t get moving.”

“Thanks,” Regulus says flatly, leaning out of the way of the door to the train car as the other four bound up the steps and swing into the corridor. Miracle of miracles, they come across an empty compartment after walking for thirty seconds, and James flings himself inside and across one of the benches before anyone else can take it.

“Was that _completely_ necessary?” Sirius asks, stepping inside and pushing James’ legs off of the seat so that he can sit down in the now-vacated spot. “We were two steps away from all getting in here, it wasn’t like anyone could’ve taken it before we got inside.”

“Hey, you never know,” James says, sitting up and scooting down the bench so that he’s sitting against the wall and there’s room for both Sirius and Regulus on the bench. Peter and Remus sit down on the opposite side.

Sirius keeps finding his eyes darting over to Remus, sitting right across from him. He just thinks he’s still so shocked by the sheer length of Remus’ legs that he keeps having to look over at them. His mum always told him that it was rude to stare, but he can’t stop himself. At the very least, he thinks he’s accomplished something in managing not to ask anything about it.

Remus, however, looks like he’s noticed Sirius’ inadvertent attention. “Something I can help you with, Sirius?”

“No,” Sirius replies quickly. “I just can’t get over how freakishly long your legs are, have you attached stilts to your knees?”

“You know what I can’t get over? How short your hair is,” Remus replies smoothly, and Peter actually moves in a way to look at Sirius’ head more closely. “Seriously, you look almost respectable.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius replies, grimacing and covering his head with his arms. “We went to a big party, okay, and my mum cut it. It's no shorter than James’.”

“Yeah, but it’s a lot _stupider_ than James’,” Peter says, laughing. “Sure, it makes your cheekbones pop, but it does nothing for the back of your head.”

“What’s wrong with the back of my head?” Sirius asks indignantly.

“Nothing, it’s just so flat,” Remus replies, and Sirius can tell he’s just being a dick for the sake of humor from the way he’s not able to keep himself from laughing. “You can really tell you’re inbred from the unfortunate shape of your skull.”

“Hey -” Regulus says indignantly, and Sirius knows that his brother doesn’t know the kind of humor that they have in their little circle, he just hears the insults.

“Alright, that was uncalled for,” Sirius says mildly. “Don’t worry, Reg, we’ll get him back by bringing up the fact that he’s a sheep shagger in a minute.”

Regulus seems momentarily pacified by Sirius’ smoothing over of the banter that Sirius had always considered lighthearted, and they settle into less insulting conversation for the rest of the train ride.

Things do feel a little off with Regulus there, Sirius can admit. He thinks that’s just because Regulus doesn’t know the way Sirius and his friends work as a group, as a team, as a little family, and because he’s never been with all of his friends around his brother, he can feel himself being a little more guarded.

He wants to ask Remus about how the moons were at home. He wants to ask Pete about how he managed spending the summer being stuck at his grandparents’ house with no one but the letters exchanged between the four of them to keep them company. He wants to make fun of the end-of-summer party with James and tell Remus and Pete exactly how ridiculous it was. Half of these things, though, he knows he _can’t _talk about with Regulus around, and the other half feels oddly as though they need to be separate.

There's been an unconscious distance between Sirius’ life at school and his life at home with his actual family, and that divide feels deeper than it has in ages, and the spindly connection from one side to the other in the compartment currently is making his skin itch. The idle chatter is making the train ride pass quickly enough, the countryside flying past them as they make their way north, but Sirius is just eager to be out of the compartment at this point.

Here's the thing. Sirius has never expected Regulus to be in any house other than Slytherin. It's painfully clear already that Regulus cares far too much about what people think of him to be anywhere other than where he’s supposed to be. Sirius doesn’t even think Regulus has even blinked in a way that wouldn’t make his parents proud. And he knows that Regulus tries so hard because he’s the second son, which means that Sirius breathes and he’s fawned over, his mistakes swept under the rug like nothing had ever happened, while Regulus has to practically break world records to just get the same level of attention that Sirius does on a regular basis.

That being said, Sirius is not going to be surprised when Regulus ends up in Slytherin. He almost feels a little guilty for looking forward to having some space once it happens. It isn’t like Sirius particularly likes the majority of Slytherin House – rivalries with Gryffindor aside, he knows from experience that the running vein of questionable political beliefs isn’t exactly something he’d like himself or his little brother to be indoctrinated in – but he knows in his heart that there isn’t anything he can do to stop Regulus from following the path that has been carefully laid before his feet. It was a miracle in itself that _Sirius_ didn’t follow it.

It scares him a little bit, that he thinks things are changing. That maybe when he was Sorted it was the beginning of something that he should have seen coming from that day, that his life would be vastly different now if he’d just managed to go along with what people had expected of him. But Sirius hadn’t _chosen_ to be where he’d ended up, it had just happened like that. The Sorting Hat had told him that he was made up of_ an innate magical talent, a strong sense of camaraderie, a penchant for breaking the rules_ and that had put Sirius with the friends he has now.

As many waves as that had caused, Sirius wouldn’t change it if he had the choice.

He does, however, think that the waves only seemed to settle down and ripple out. He's worried that they’ll bounce off of something and come back, or that they’re an indication of a bigger storm.

Sirius tries to put thoughts like that out of his mind as they pull into the station at Hogsmeade, Regulus separating from them after a tight hug and heading off with the other first years to take the boats across the lake.

As the four of them, finally their usual group again, settles into a horseless carriage and begin to trundle their way up to the school, Remus is the first to speak since their separation from Regulus. “So,” he says. “That was interesting.”

“What was?” Peter asks.

“That,” Remus repeats, gesturing at Sirius. “Watching you clam up around a family member was _very_ telling of how things are at home.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Sirius replies, avoiding eye contact as much as he possibly can, which is difficult with all three of his friends staring at him. “James came and stayed, he can tell you.”

“Uh, yeah, what I can tell you is that as nice as your parents were to me and as interesting as it was to spend some time in high society feeling like a young gentleman taking his first steps towards mingling with the elite of the community and eventually inheriting the land he grew up on and making a difference in the Wizengamot,” James says, with a bit more flair than Sirius thinks is really necessary, “you were so fucking _careful_ around everyone, it was like seeing a different person.”

Sirius doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Look,” Peter says, jumping in, “I get it, it has to be hard to... you know, reconcile what your cousin told you last term, but just because they're different from how you are doesn’t mean you have to pretend to be something you’re not.”

“I know, but what did you expect me to do? Fight with my parents all summer? Contrary to all of your beliefs, it seems, the biggest thing I've ever done to disappoint my parents was get Sorted into Gryffindor and that wasn’t even my fault!” Sirius replies indignantly. He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “I’m not complaining that it happened, and I wouldn’t change it, but I feel like you think I'm a far bigger rebel or something than I actually am.”

“I don’t think you’re a rebel,” Remus says mildly. “I just think you have good morals.”

Sirius doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He isn’t upset, he just doesn’t know what to say next.

They get to the castle and to the feast and they manage to get a spot close-ish to the front of the long Gryffindor table so that Sirius can kind of crane his neck to see the Sorting. Regulus is third and, exactly as Sirius predicted, he’s sorted into Slytherin after just a moment’s deliberation by the hat. The hesitation was a bit longer than Sirius had expected, in all honesty, but he waves to his brother and gives him a thumbs-up as he makes his way over to the Slytherin table, sitting down next to Narcissa as she scoots down the bench to make room for him.

“Do you think he’s going to get a letter telling him how he made the family proud?” James asks as they finish clapping and the next name is called for the Sorting. “I wish I’d gotten a letter like that, it would probably have been good motivation to behave better through my thus far illustrious Hogwarts career.”

“Behave _better_? I don’t think there’s any possible way that you could’ve behaved worse,” Sirius replies. “And he will, by the way. This year should be full of praise for Regulus, judging from what a suck-up he is and how much he thrives on minimal attention.”

“You know what this year’s going to be full of for us?” James asks, and Sirius can tell that he’s trying to change the subject, but it feels like an awkward segue into a cheesy announcement.

“Stress,” Peter suggests. “We’re taking more lessons this year, I swear, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“No, Pete, James’ mind never goes to school, even though that’s the entire reason that we’re here. You have to think like him,” Remus replies, leaning forward on the table with his elbow propped up on it, chin resting in his hand. He stares intently at James. “He’s gonna start talking about how we get to go to Hogsmeade this year.”

James’ mouth opens in a perfectly round little _o_ for a moment and he doesn’t speak, but then he says, “I’m shocked. I’m really disappointed in you, Remus, I thought you knew me well enough to be able to figure out what it is that I’ve been most excited about this year.”

“Oh, you’re right, my mistake. You’re obviously most excited to see me, over anything else, and that’s very sweet of you, James.”

“I hate that smug look on your face.”

“It’s okay, it’s clear that I’m your favorite, and I know that’s hard to admit in front of Sirius and Pete, but it’s something that we need to tell each other, and I’m not afraid to say it. I’m your favorite.” Remus pauses for dramatic effect. “Pete’s mine, but that’s beside the point, I appreciate your sentiment anyway.”

James looks around hopelessly, turning to Sirius for help. “Please…” he says, sounding desperate. “You have to know what I’m talking about.”

Of course Sirius knows what James is talking about. He could name every detail about James’ hopes and dreams for this school year in an instant. Mostly because James didn’t shut up about it for more than fifteen minutes at a time over both last term and the week they spent together over the summer, but also because Sirius considers himself a pretty good friend who knows how to listen and to remember things that are important to the people important to him.

Instead of detailing all of that, however, he just puts on a voice of fake hurt and says, “I can’t believe Remus is your favorite.”

Peter snorts. Remus winks at James saucily and practically crows, “I mean, we already knew I’m the best out of all of us, this is just confirmation that we think that within the group as well.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius says, flicking a torn off piece of dinner roll at Remus’ face.

“Quidditch!” James shouts in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s the answer. It’s Quidditch.”


	4. in which remus doesn't understand the epic highs and lows of hogwarts quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jamie chloe and lex bullied me into posting this before it was sunday where i am because it was already sunday for 2/3 of them so ,,,,, early chapter for everyone else!!! hope u guys enjoy xxxx
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Despite James’ belief that Quidditch is the most important thing about the coming term, Remus finds himself immediately and nearly overwhelmingly thrown into lessons. Most unfortunately, in Remus’ opinion, the first of the month was on a Saturday, so even though they had one day to settle in before heading to classes, they’re immediately greeted with a full week of lessons after two months off.

Their teachers are pulling no punches when it comes to easing them back into the school year, and by the time their first two lessons are over, they’ve been set an essay for one and have practical work to be prepared for the other. Monday is the first day where the four of them have been separated for classes, aside from the times that Remus has been out for moon-related reasons – the same reason that he never had to take flying lessons, something that he’s infinitely glad for – and it’s strange for them to head off to different directions of the castle.

It’s after their morning break that they go to their third lessons of the day; Remus and Sirius going down the hall to Arithmancy and Peter and James making their way up the North Tower to Divination. Remus watches them walk away briskly through the halls, pumping their arms in exaggerated motions as though it’ll make them go faster, the sound of their giggling carrying back through the hall to where Remus still stands.

“Aw, there they go, they grow up so fast,” Sirius says, patting Remus’ shoulder sympathetically. “Next thing you know, they’ll be getting married.”

“Who would marry James?” Remus muses. Sirius laughs.

To Remus’ disappointment, and Sirius’, judging from how vocal he is about it, one of the other third years who has chosen Arithmancy as a class is someone who Remus had hoped they wouldn’t be seeing so often this year, but it’s been the second lesson this morning that they’ve had with Snape.

“Oh, _fuck_, not you again,” Sirius groans as they sit down in the third row of the Arithmancy classroom, Snape a row in front of them and a desk to the left. Remus notes that he’s sitting by himself.

“Who, me?” a Hufflepuff, sitting directly in front of them, who Remus has never spoken to in his life asks.

Sirius makes a scrunched-up face of incredulity at her. “What – _no_, I’m talking to Snape.”

“You’re the ones who chose to sit close to me,” Snape replies in a snooty tone.

Remus looks around. There’s only one other empty desk, and it’s all the way in the back. “Yeah, because there are so many options.”

Snape opens his mouth, eyes narrowed and sharpened with whatever insult that’s about to be spat at them, when Professor Vector enters from the classroom door, claps her hands for attention, and class begins.

“I don’t know why I ended up signing up for that,” Sirius grumbles as they leave the classroom an hour later, arms laden with the scrolls of problems that Professor Vector had assigned for them to complete by the next class. “I hate numbers.”

Remus shrugs. “You said Divination was a stupid subject and that you wouldn’t even be able to bullshit your way through it because you’d be sent out for falling asleep during every class. Also, you can’t do Care of Magical Creatures because it makes you sneeze.”

“Curse my delicate sensibilities,” Sirius sighs. “Lunch?”

They meet James and Peter at their usual spot at the Gryffindor table, sitting down and chatting about how their last class had gone. As Sirius had predicted last term and as Remus had reminded him just a few minutes before, Divination is, as James puts it, _a nothing class_.

“Mate, you’re never gonna believe how easy it is, our first assignment is going to be logging our dreams for a month,” James continues.

“I never remember my dreams long enough to write them down, just a vague sensation of weird,” Peter says, frowning and picking up his sandwich for another bite. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to come up with a whole month’s worth of fake shit just to have something to turn in, I think my creativity will be dried up after about a week.”

“I’ll do it for you if you do my Arithmancy work,” Sirius suggests.

“Sirius, it’s not my fault you decided to take maths after years of not looking at a number.”

After lunch, the day concludes with double Transfiguration, beginning with the standard lecture from Professor McGonagall on how they’re a year older now and how their behavior should reflect that and how if they’re _lucky_ they’ll be able to hold on to their Hogsmeade privileges, providing they got their permission forms signed, and those need to be turned in by the end of the lesson. Despite the fact that she’s been their teacher for two years already and Remus likes to think they know each other a little better by now, that does nothing to stop him from being intimidated by McGonagall’s speech.

Maybe it’s because it’s because this will be one of the first real tastes of independence that they’ll have while at school, but Remus doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize being able to get out of the fucking castle and into actual society, surrounded by people other than other temperamental teenagers and exhausted educators for once. If he thinks about it harder, it might be because he has so little control over anything of consequence happening in his life, but Remus likes to imagine that he wants to be able to go to Hogsmeade in order to just be _out_.

Transfiguration is hard, but that’s nothing new. It’s hard in a familiar way. Being in that classroom and working on new spells is tangible evidence of learning, and fuck, Remus was so _bored_ over the summer that he’s glad to be back at it. Even though the start of a new term always leads to James and Sirius inevitably complaining about their workloads and Peter stressing himself out over trying to juggle too many things, Remus has been itching to do something, anything, and this at least is a productive way to channel his energy.

Sometimes he thinks about what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed home and been taught by his parents instead of being allowed to come to Hogwarts. Fuck, Remus thinks he would’ve been driven out of his mind with boredom ages ago. He probably would’ve turned to vandalism by now at the very least.

As it is, Remus is far from bored by the time they return to the common room that night. They get their favorite spot by the fire after kicking some first years off of the sofa (“Move, get out of here, this has been our spot for years,” Sirius had told them, flapping his arms around and keeping the stream of words going until they’d relocated) and are just settling down to pretend like they’re doing homework for the evening when there’s a shout from the other side of the room.

“Can I have your attention please!” says a voice, and Remus looks around to see someone he vaguely recognizes as on the Quidditch team standing on a table.

“No!” someone shouts back. The tall girl flips them off but doesn’t reply further.

“Alright, thank you. I’m M.G McGonagall. If you don’t know me already, I’m Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. If you are,” she holds out a hand and starts counting things off on her fingers, “dedicated, hard-working, motivated, and already _good_ at Quidditch, we have two open positions on the team and we need them to be filled. When I say already good at Quidditch, don’t fucking bother coming to trials if you’ve only been on a broom in flying lessons. That shit’s not gonna fly, and neither are you. Anyway, trials are next Saturday on the pitch at eleven o’clock. Be there or don’t.”

M.G. gets down from the table and the chatter in the room resumes as it was before her announcement, and James turns to his friends in excitement. “See? I told you it was going to be a Quidditch-filled year.”

“I suppose our time of peace has ended,” Peter replies dryly. James shoves him.

The next afternoon and every single one following until the night before Quidditch trials, James drags Sirius down to the pitch with their brooms to toss a Quaffle around and get in as much practice as they can manage before it comes time for them to test their skills. Remus and Peter come along once or twice, just to observe (read: ridicule), and Remus thinks his friends are under the impression that he doesn’t care about Quidditch just because he doesn’t understand it, when in reality, he feels quite the opposite.

It isn’t like Quidditch is a difficult sport to follow; its basic principles don’t escape Remus in any way, shape, or form. However, the reason for his complete and total lack of interest in the sport is entirely due to the utter stupidity of the rules.

It’s the last afternoon before the trials, and Remus is sitting in the stands with Peter, watching James and Sirius practice with far more intensity than Remus thinks is totally necessary. By the time they land and head over to the stands for a break, Remus and Peter have come to a decision.

“Right, Pete and I have worked it out,” Remus calls as his friends walk over.

“Worked what out?” Sirius asks curiously, hopping up the staircase to sit next to Remus on the bench. “Why you’re so shit at flying?”

“Okay, that was uncalled for,” Peter replies. “Remus is shit at flying because he _chooses _to be.”

“Yeah, and Pete’s shit at flying because he’s too good at too many other things, so he had to be shit at _something_, it wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

“Aw, cute,” James says, leaning against the railing in front of the bench. “Anyway, what have you worked out? Is it possible for me to put in a request for things to be worked out?”

Remus frowns. “Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, uh, why Sirius sweats constantly when he plays Quidditch but only manages to look like he’s got a beautiful, effervescent glow –”

“Effervescent?” Peter mutters incredulously under his breath.

“– while, by contrast, I look like I’ve just drowned.”

“To be fair, mate, that might just be your face.”

“Fuck off, Sirius, I was asking Pete and Remus.”

“I don’t think you know what effervescent means,” Peter replies slowly.

“Look, James, there’s a simple explanation for this,” Remus replies easily. “Inbreeding.”

“Okay,” Sirius begins indignantly, but Remus continues speaking over him.

“No, it’s true, only the hot people who are way too closely related are marrying each other and fucking all over the place, and that’s why he’s both hot and weird and why he’ll eventually spiral into mental incapacitation at an early age. Mark my words. By the time he’s twenty-two, the signs will have already manifested.”

Sirius, who had gone a delicate shade of pink when he’d been referred to as hot – Remus isn’t really sure why, considering he refers to himself as _the best-looking one of the group_ constantly, but he supposes it might be different hearing someone else say it – is now wearing a disgruntled expression. “You know what? I don’t need to be insulted like this.”

“Yes, you do, it brings your ego down to a manageable level,” Peter replies easily. “We didn’t insult James enough from an early age, and now look where it’s gotten us.”

“My self-confidence is well-placed.”

“Of course it is.”

“Anyway, we’ve figured out that Quidditch would suck less if the Snitch was only worth twenty points,” Remus interrupts, bringing them back to the original point of the conversation.

That causes the conversation to devolve further, but this time just spiraling into James launching into a tirade about how _Remus, you don’t even understand the basics of Quidditch, much less the finer points of the game that make it thrilling to play and captivating to watch_, all while Remus insists that if they wanted to make it more intense, they’d make it a smaller margin to win by ending the game. Eventually, James gets fed up with talking to them about it and not getting a sincere enough response, and he pulls Sirius back onto the pitch so that they can continue practicing until it’s too dark out and they head inside to go get dinner.

The next morning is spent trying to get as much work done as possible before they have to head down to the pitch for the trials. James has been pacing since he woke up, and as much as Remus makes fun of him for being more passionate about Quidditch than he is about anything else on the planet, he can tell that James is scared that he’ll blow his big chance to make the team. Remus understands; James has been talking a big game for the past two years, and he doubtless wants to prove himself so that he can be known for something in the athletic side of Hogwarts other than breaking his leg and getting himself banned from playing during his trials in his first year.

Sirius notices James pacing while Remus is trying to figure out the layout of his History of Magic essay and shows a remarkable, unexpected skill at handling their friend when he suggests that they go get some breakfast and head down to the pitch early.

“I know you’re trying to get me to calm down and give me something to do so that I don’t freak the fuck out,” James says as they sit at the table. “And I’m letting you because it’s working, but don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I would never assume that of you,” Sirius replies, taking a sip of his tea. “You’re far too smart for that.”

They eat and head down to the pitch and Remus realizes that for the life of him, for the endless hours that he’s heard James and Sirius talking about Quidditch and the time that he’s spent watching them fly, he has no fucking clue what positions they’re flying for. All he really knows is that they’re prepared to an almost embarrassing level, and if they don’t make the team, even though it isn’t possible for Remus to care less about the game, he’s going to fight M.G. McGonagall and everyone who she chose over them instantly.

Remus is well aware that he’s never been in a fight before, but he’s got a wiry strength in him from both his years dealing with James being James and also from the wolf hibernating in the pit of his stomach. He doubts he’s going to have to use this, and it wouldn’t be like he’d be the only one fighting. Besides, when his friends jump in, he’s certain that the little bat Sirius has in his hand is going to come in handy – _oh_, he’s flying for the open Beater’s position.

From when James stands, Remus deduces that he’s flying for Chaser. He really should’ve paid more attention when his friends had been talking, but after both of them head down to join the other hopefuls standing on the edge of the pitch waiting for M.G. to direct them, he leans over to Peter. “Did you know what positions they were flying for before this, or did you figure it out around the same time I did?”

“Okay, I really think they never even told us, despite all their talk about the game,” Peter replies. “I mean, I think I knew James is a Chaser, but I _definitely_ didn’t know what position Sirius plays. Does that make me a bad friend?”

Remus considers it. After a moment, he replies, “Nah, we just won’t tell them.”

“Alright!” M.G. shouts after blowing a whistle hanging around her neck. Her current team members are standing around her, looking far bigger and more capable than Sirius and James. “So. We’re only looking to fill two positions. One Chaser and one Beater. If you don’t play either of those positions you can leave. We’re going to be flying some drills to see how you handle yourselves, and if you pass that level, you’ll be moving on to flying with the team to check and see how you work together.”

Remus looks down at the little knots of players on the pitch. He can see both James and Sirius, standing in separate groups according to their positions, near the front.

M.G. blows her whistle. “First five from each group, let’s go!”

They mount their brooms, kick off from the ground and take to the sky, and in an instant, are in motion.


	5. in which sirius and james bring down remus and peter's rep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello hello we are back with another chapter. this one is slightly early per the request of the love of my LIFE and one of my best friends chloe (groupielcver on twt) because it's her birthday and i would do anything for her. i started nanowrimo and since this is the project i'm working on for it i'm probably going to be a LOT more productive in terms of cranking this shit out. who knows - we might be moving to two chapters a week ?????????? lmk if this is something you guys would be interested in!
> 
> as usual, i'm so thankful for everyone who's read and left kudos and commented. i love you all. anyway here we go, back at it again, to find out if the boys made the quidditch team (the answer may shock you!)
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

The announcement that the two new members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team are James Potter and Sirius Black has the entire school talking within less than a day of its posting on the bulletin board in the common room. James had shoved his way to the front of the crowd gathered around the paper after M.G. had pinned it to the board, squeezing between other curious students – why they were so interested, Peter had no idea, he knows for a fact that 80% of the people crowding around didn’t even go to the trials, much less fly – and after he’d taken one look at the announcement, stuck both hands in the air and shouted, “YES!”

“What does it say?” Sirius had called to him, balancing with one foot on each of the arms of a chair by the fire in an attempt to get a better vantage point in order to see what happened without having to wade through the crowd. “I mean, I can guess at least some of it.”

“We did it!”

“We did it?”

“We fucking did it, I knew it!” James was still yelling, and Sirius had hopped down from the chair to hug him. “It has the full team listing, and we’re on it, look! _Seeker: M.G. McGonagall, Chasers: Gideon Prewett, Abigail Horlacher, James Potter, Beaters: Fabian Prewett, Sirius Black, _and_ Keeper: Gregor McDougal_!”

“I can read, James, you don’t have to tell me!”

“I know, I’m just fucking _thrilled_!"

“Congrats,” Remus had said mildly. “You’d think they’d just won the Cup or something,” he’d continued under his breath to Peter.

“This should be interesting,” Peter had replied, watching Sirius and James hug each other while jumping up and down and shouting while going largely ignored by most people in the common room.

Two weeks later, Peter’s sentiment continues to be accurate as both James and Sirius become increasingly obsessed with Quidditch. It seems to him that the rest of the day is just time to pass before they can go fuck around on the pitch, and he wonders when exactly it was that he suddenly became friends with such massive jocks.

“It’s embarrassing,” he says one morning at breakfast. “You’re bringing down our rep.”

“Your _rep_?” Sirius asks incredulously, eyebrows raised. “Pete, if anything this is going to make your rep go _up_, you’re best friends with Quidditch players.”

“Best team in the school, I might add,” James tacks on.

“That’s debatable,” Conor Vance says, walking past them between the tables on his way out of the Great Hall.

“Did I _ask_ for your shitty opinion?” James shouts after him, and Conor turns around to watch him stand up and clench his fists, continuing to walk backwards the whole time. “You’ll see how wrong you are on the pitch, Vance!”

Conor just waves at James cheerily and leaves the Great Hall, seemingly completely unbothered by the outburst. James sits down heavily and Sirius, next to him, stares at him like he’s grown another head.

“What?”

“Alright, I get that Quidditch rivalries are intense, but what did Conor ever do to you?” Sirius asks. He glances across the table at Peter, who shrugs. Next to him, Remus looks similarly nonplussed.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know any more than you do,” Remus says. “Though I don’t think James even knows the answer.”

“I know the answer,” James replies defensively. “It’s just a secret.”

“There’s no reason for the hate,” Peter says in a stage whisper. “It’s just to make the whole rivalry thing more exciting.”

“You know what, I resent that,” James retorts, but the heat behind the words is a mild attempt at something strong at best. “Someday I’ll fight him. With my fists.”

Remus snorts. “I highly doubt that, but okay, James, whatever you say.”

“Look, the only thing stopping me is the fact that we’re surrounded by teachers at all times, and I’ll lose my place on the team if we get caught fighting. You know, probably,” James continues. Sirius leans around him to look after Conor for a second before moving in the opposite direction to rest his elbows on the table.

“Am I going to have to be our only representative on the Quidditch team when you inevitably get thrown out for beating the shit out of Conor Vance?” Sirius asks, frowning. “I can’t handle that responsibility. You should figure out how to be friends with him. He’s nice to the rest of us.”

“I mean, he’s even nice to _you_, James, it’s not his fault you’re consistently nasty to him,” Peter adds. “The first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up, ask him to meet up with us and you can talk it out.”

“There’s nothing to _talk_ about!” James insists.

He continues insisting this all the way to the next weekend, when they’re on their way out of the castle to walk down to Hogsmeade for the first time. Over the past couple of weeks, the air has taken on a chilly quality that Peter associates with impending winter, even though autumn has barely begun. Perhaps this is because he’s the sort of person who just gets colder generally, but Peter has already broken out his hat and scarf and coat to trek down the hill to the village.

“Here’s the question,” Sirius says, speeding up slightly and jumping to walk along the narrow, rocky half wall lining the path, “do we have a plan for today?”

“Why would we have any sort of plan, who do you think we are?” Remus replies, walking right next to the little wall, next to Sirius, who seems a bit wobbly. That decision seems to be a solid one, as Sirius wavers slightly on the wall while stepping over a particularly big stone and has to grab onto Remus’ shoulder to regain his balance. “Spontaneity, that’s how we live our lives. Just not giving a fuck about anything or anyone, obviously.”

Sirius shoves Remus lightly, releasing his grip on his shoulder and jumping down from the half wall. “Look, all I’m saying is that this is the first time since we’ve been at school that we’ve been allowed off of the school grounds. We essentially have the run of this town. What are we going to do with it?”

There’s a bit of an expectant silence. Then Peter says, “I’m cold.”

“You’re always cold,” James replies. “What does that mean?”

“It means let’s go sit somewhere warm and get lunch,” Peter says, crossing his arms. “The Three Broomsticks is right there.”

“Okay, cool,” Sirius says. He pauses, shifts slightly, then says, “Last one to the door is buying,” and immediately starts sprinting.

Unfortunately for Sirius, despite his head start and general athleticism, he’s the last one to make it to the Three Broomsticks. Remus, with his long legs and spark of competitive spirit that is only activated every so often, trips James as he runs, knocking him over strategically right in front of Sirius’ path. Sirius falls over James and crashes to the ground, and Peter, being smaller, nimbler, and more prepared for this happening as he had predicted it from the moment Sirius had started the race, hops over his friends’ collapsed forms and makes it to the door just a moment after Remus does.

By the time James and Sirius make it inside, Peter has already gotten a table and Remus is getting them drinks. The two of them slowly come through the door together, and judging from how they’re shoving at each other and struggling to make it inside, the reason for their delay was due to some sort of physical altercation in an attempt to not be the last one in. To Peter’s eye, it seems like James and Sirius enter the building at exactly the same time, but as soon as they cross the threshold they catch sight of Remus making his way back to Peter, two mugs of butterbeer in hand, and rush over to harangue him about who was the last one inside.

“I didn’t _see_, how many times do I have to say that, I was opening a tab for one of you to pay,” Remus says as he sits, setting one of the mugs down in front of Peter. “I don’t care who made it in last, I just know it wasn’t me.”

“We could ask Conor to join us, then he could be the last one in.”

“James, that’s such a dick move, he wasn’t there for the race. Plus, it isn’t like you can’t pay for your own butterbeer.”

“Alright, I know that, Pete, I just don’t want to, not when Sirius is the generationally wealthy one out of us.”

Sirius throws his hands in the air. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t get access to the accounts until I’m twenty-one, I’m basically useless.”

“That bag of coins in your pocket says differently,” Remus says, poking the side of Sirius’ coat as it hangs on the back of his chair.

“Is that a bag of coins in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” James teases. Sirius kicks him under the table.

They’re momentarily distracted by the ringing of the bell at the door and the sight of the Gryffindor girls from their year entering in a little knot, laughing and unwinding scarves and sniffling from the chilly air. Peter has been facing the door already, so the rotation of his focus to the movement at the door isn’t much of a stretch, but the way James turns to see the girls is almost comical. He doesn’t move until they’re in and talking, and Peter thinks that as soon as he hears Lily’s voice that’s what makes his head whip around like he’s just been shouted at by his mother from across the room.

After a moment, he says, “Do you think if I asked Lily to go with me on the next Hogsmeade trip she would say yes?”

The responses from the group are almost embarrassingly quick.

Peter begins, “Uh,” while Remus says, “No,” and Sirius just laughs.

James frowns. “Okay, tell me how you really feel.”

“Look, James, she didn’t like you last year, and you’ve barely spoken this year so far, what makes you think that she would’ve changed her opinions over the summer?” Remus asks.

“How could she not? I’ve obviously gone through a growth spurt and thus continued to improve in my looks.”

“It wasn’t as though there wasn’t room for improvement to begin with,” Peter says under his breath. James doesn’t hear him, but Sirius snorts.

“And while I admire your self-confidence,” Remus continues, “I don’t think it was your looks that she had a problem with.”

James takes a second to process this. “So what you’re saying is she’s always thought I’m hot.”

“What – where the fuck did you get that from what I just said to you?”

“I’m kind of impressed at how spectacularly he’s managed to avoid absorbing any real criticism,” Sirius comments as though James can’t hear him. James doesn’t respond to him, so Peter concludes that that’s sort of a correct assessment.

“He hasn’t _managed to avoid_ anything, he’s just thick and doesn’t know how to listen.”

“Hey, Remus, don’t say that, I’ve heard everything you’ve told me today,” James replies, frowning.

“Hearing and listening are two entirely different things, you idiot, you _hear_ literally every one of Binns’ lectures, but do you listen to a single word he says? No, you have to rely on mine and Remus’ notes to get you through History of Magic every year,” Peter says.

“That has nothing to do with Lily thinking I’m hot,” James counters. “We weren’t even talking about History of Magic.”

“Is your brain actually capable of basic cognitive function?” Sirius asks incredulously. “I cannot tell if you’re being stupid on purpose or if you shut your brain off for the summer and forgot to turn it back on.”

James opens his mouth, most likely to respond with another inane string of words that makes Peter want to strangle him just for being an idiot, but before he can, Remus stands up suddenly.

“Right, I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of what?”

“Of you being stupid.”

James stares at him. “So you’re _leaving_? You’re going to stop being friends with us over something like this?”

“What?” Remus asks, looking bewildered. “No, I mean I’m going over there to ask Lily what she thinks about you so you either shut up and stop pining after her or you go talk to her yourself. Come on, Pete, I need a witness.”

“Oh, I wanted to go,” Sirius says. “Why do I have to stay behind?”

“You’re the best at making James stay put,” Remus replies easily. “Sorry to leave you on babysitting duty.”

“Just shine a laser pointer on the wall and he’ll be entertained for hours,” Peter suggests, standing.

“What the fuck is a laser pointer?”

Peter ignores Sirius’ question and James’ unrelenting stream of words indicating _exactly_ how he feels about Remus going over to the girls as they make their way across the room to their little table. Despite how crowded it is, Remus’ long strides are still enough to make Peter have to trot to keep up. He feels like a little dog nipping at his master’s heels. That might just be solely to do with their height difference, but Peter’s willing to admit that he’s insecure about that, even though he doesn’t plan to say anything about it.

Within a minute, they’re standing at the girls’ table, and Peter notes that while all four of them were here earlier, Marlene and Mary have disappeared. Glancing around, he sees them at the bar picking up drinks for everyone. Remus clears his throat as they stop walking, and Lily and Dorcas look up at their approach.

“Oh, hi,” Dorcas says, stopping mid-sentence. “What’s going on?”

Remus lets out a long-suffering sigh, as though he’s been forced to come over here, and says, “So James is being stupid and wants to ask Lily to go on the next Hogsmeade trip with him. He thinks because he had a growth spurt and apparently got –” Remus pauses here to do air quotes, “– _hotter_, that he has more things going for him and Lily will _absolutely_ want to go out with him. I came over here because he won’t listen to me telling him that it wasn’t his looks that was the problem, it was because he’s a massive idiot, and I wanted to get confirmation of that. Pete’s my witness.”

“Hey,” Peter says, waving one time in an almost saluting move. “That’s me.”

“Wow, that was a lot,” Lily says dryly. “He couldn’t ask me that himself?”

“No, obviously not, he doesn’t even think there’s a possibility of him being rejected because of anything to do with how stupid he can be,” Peter says, “though I’m kind of blown away that you had to ask for clarification about any of what Remus just said, you and James might have more in common than you’d thought.”

“Alright, Peter, just because I asked if James had the ability to walk over here and ask me why I don’t like him himself doesn’t mean I have zero ability to comprehend the things that people tell me. I mean, you can tell him that you were right,” Lily replies, shrugging. “If he wants more detail he can talk to me about it himself, but I don’t want to embarrass him.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, he embarrasses himself enough on his own,” Remus says easily. “Thanks, Lily.”

“Anytime,” she replies, and Remus turns to leave. Marlene and Mary are coming back to their table, both of them with a butterbeer in each hand, and Marlene jerks her chin up at Remus as they pass each other.

“Hey, Lupin,” she says. “Shag any good sheep over the summer?”

“Hey, McKinnon,” Remus replies. “It took you a month to ask me that? I could’ve shagged so many sheep since then.”

“I was just looking after you, checking in on your well-being, if you don’t want me to ask about your life, I won’t.”

“Why don’t you ever ask about my life?” Peter asks in mock offense.

“Because I know you’re doing wonderfully,” Marlene replies. “You’re an angel, we all know that.”

With that, she squeezes past them towards their table and takes a seat next to Dorcas. Mary doesn’t say anything other than _hey_ when she passes them, which isn’t more than Peter was expecting, considering she’s always been more on the quiet side than the rest of her friends, but he always feels a little bit awkward because she’s the most quiet one out of all of them. He thinks it wouldn’t be an issue if he knew her better – after all, her friends never seem to have a problem speaking to her – but a lot of the time he doesn’t really know what to say. She’s nice, he just doesn’t know how to approach.

Peter wonders if that’s the way other people who aren’t his best friends feel about him. Thinking about it now, he might be the quietest one out of their group, to people that don’t know him very well, at least. He’s never minded that, it’s just an interesting thing to realize.

They make it back to their table after a moment, sitting down in their old spots. James is staring at the table, and Peter can tell that he’s only just moved into that position after intently watching their entire conversation with the girls.

“Fuck, I’m so glad you’re back, it was like trying to get a toddler to stay in one spot,” Sirius complains, letting go of James’ arm, where it looks like his hand has been clamped for the past few minutes.

“I’m so sorry to have left you hanging,” Remus says, sitting down, not sounding sorry at all.

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Enough about Sirius,” James interrupts, waving both of his hands through the air. “What did Lily say?”

Peter raises his eyebrows but takes a sip of his butterbeer instead of answering the question. Remus doesn’t reply for a beat either; Peter thinks that maybe he’s trying to come up with a way to tell James the original hypothesis was right without hurting James’ feelings.

It doesn’t seem like Remus is able to come to that conclusion, however, as he just shrugs and says, “I was right.”

James deflates slightly. “Oh.”

“Sorry, mate.”

James frowns at the table for a moment before straightening up in his seat and saying, in an attempt to change the subject, “So Zonko’s seems fun.”


	6. in which common sense isn't so common

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! new chapter is going up today because it's sirius' birthday. also, i'm writing the actual events of sirius' birthday in toaw later today, so that makes it more fun lol. 
> 
> this one is a fun one. for * reasons. haha i hope u like this one.
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Halloween is approaching, and with each day, James’ mounting excitement becomes more pronounced and is greeted by more groans of exasperation. To be fair, the only reactions he’s been getting at all have been from his three best friends, but he can’t help it, they’re the only people he sees consistently enough to remind them that his favorite holiday is just around the corner.

His parents have never had a problem with his enthusiasm for the last night of October, but it seems like the general spirit of Hogwarts is that people’s interest only extends as far as the feast and possibly some parties. That’s ridiculous to James; he’s never spent a Halloween anything less than at a ten on a scale of excitement, and he’s going to get his friends involved in this holiday spirit if it kills him.

“Here’s the thing,” Peter says one afternoon, interrupting one of James’ frequent laments that his friends don’t _care_ enough about Halloween and that it _embarrasses_ him, “yes, you’re right, we don’t care, but the fact of the matter is that you keep referring to it as our _lack of holiday spirit_. As far as I’m aware, when people talk about holiday spirit, they’re talking about the Christmas season. Unless I’m wrong?” He looks to Remus and Sirius for confirmation.

“No, I think I’ve heard that too, Pete,” Sirius says, his brow furrowed in faux contemplation. “That seems to be one of the biggest holidays of the year, doesn’t it? Not Halloween?”

James clenches his fist and shakes it in the air in frustration. “I wish there was a Halloween version of the Grinch, because that’s what you’re all being right now!”

“Oh, hey, I’m proud of you, you didn’t call it the Grunch that time,” Remus says lightly. “Good job.”

Despite his friends’ general lack of interest in the best holiday of the year, James refuses to let their shit attitudes get to him for longer than the short conversations that they have about it. He knows that they’ll get more involved in his enthusiasm as the night draws closer, and they’ll be asking him about what they’re going to dress as for the costume contest any day now. He just has to wait for it. Besides, James has too many things to be excited about, he can’t focus on the negativity of the humbugs he’s forced to share a room with.

The first Quidditch match of the year is drawing near as well, and James has been doing everything he can to prove himself as a stellar member of the team during their practices. He thinks he’s been doing alright – could be better, could be worse – but the butterflies in his stomach always seem to decide to act as though they’ve been caught in a tornado every time he thinks about their impending first match.

There are several reasons why James is _so_ nervous for this, and he thinks every single one of them might be stupid, but he can’t tell. He can counter nearly every one of them in his head when they come to his mind, but somehow even though he knows that he doesn’t really have a reason to be worried and that he can name the reason why he _shouldn’t_ be, it does nothing to soothe his anxieties. Maybe he isn’t good enough to be on the team (but he wouldn’t have made it if he wasn’t a good player), maybe he’s going to fall off his broom and embarrass himself in front of the whole school (but he hasn’t fallen off his broom in at least two years), maybe Hogwarts rules are different from the rules they play with on his team at home (but if they were, M.G. would’ve told him during practice, he would’ve known by now), maybe the other team is going to be so much better than he could ever hope to beat and he’s going to have to suffer the humiliation in losing in his first ever Quidditch match (he doesn’t have anything to counter this one. It’s a legitimate concern).

When he voices his concerns on their way down to the pitch for their last practice before the match, however, Sirius dismisses them for the most part with a wave of his hand and a casual, “Look, James, you and I both know that you’re stressed about this because our first match is against Ravenclaw, and you have that irrational hatred for Conor Vance.”

“It’s not irrational! He’s a dick.”

Sirius snorts. “He is not. He’s actually pretty nice. You just hate him because he made his team before we made ours.”

“And that’s not fair! He’s had an extra year of experience on us, so he’s bound to be better than us and that means we’re going to be humiliated at the match on Saturday.”

“Okay, do you – do you _want_ me to outline exactly why that’s a stupid thought process to have, or do you want me to let you stew in it so you’re pleasantly surprised on Saturday?”

James doesn’t reply for a moment. Then, “Tell me.”

Sirius holds out a hand, hooking his broom into the crook of his elbow in a sort of precariously balanced twist to make sure it doesn’t fall as he uses his other hand to tick things off on his fingers. “One, you’ve been playing Quidditch since you were nine, I think your experience is probably pretty evenly matched. Two, just because Conor is a good player doesn’t mean he’s the whole team. Yeah, we know Ravenclaw are _good_, but that doesn’t mean they’re a stronger team than us. He’s just one player, if they can’t work together and if they don’t have any good strategies then we’re better than them. Three, he’s the _Keeper_. His only job is to make sure the Quaffle doesn’t go through the hoops. I bet you’re faster than him, you just have to get past him. And if you can’t, pass it to Gideon or Abigail.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“That’s all you have to say? I gave you a detailed speech on exactly why you’re going to be brilliant in the match on Saturday and why you have nothing to worry about and you give me _that_ lackluster reply? Fuck, the nerves must be worse than I thought.”

James shoves Sirius lightly as they approach the pitch. “Shut up, I’ll survive.”

Survive James does, and before he knows it, it’s Saturday morning and he’s up before his alarm, staring at the canopy of his bed and wishing that time would pass more quickly so that he can just _be_ already. He wishes he was on the pitch already, in the air already, scoring his first goal already, winning the game already, earning his place on the team already. He thinks he might be mostly scared of what people may or may not have to say about him during and after the match. That might be a stupid thing to worry about – Sirius certainly doesn’t seem to have a thought like that in his head – but James just really wants people to agree that he was a good choice, that he deserves to be on the team, that he’s as good as he thinks he is.

In hindsight, maybe talking so much about how much he plays Quidditch and how much he loves it was a bad choice. They’re going to think he’s all talk and that there’s nothing to him other than a fancy broom and no skills in flying it.

“James, shut up,” Remus’ voice says suddenly, and James jumps.

“What?” he asks after a beat, incredulously.

“I can hear you overthinking the match, go back to sleep, it’s five in the morning.”

“Sorry,” James replies in a stage whisper. He wraps himself in a cocoon of blankets and sinks down as far as he can into them to bide his time until his alarm goes off.

It seems like time flies by in chunks after that, more quickly than he knows how to handle. Parts of the morning are slipping out of his grasp after that; he’s brushing his teeth, he’s at breakfast, he’s getting well-wishes from Peter and Remus and other people at the Gryffindor table, he’s walking to the pitch with Sirius, he’s in the changing rooms, he’s listening to M.G. giving a pre-match speech, he’s feeling his heart rushing in his ears, he’s shaky, he’s excited, he’s scared.

Before James even knows what’s happening, it seems, they’re on the pitch and Madam Hooch is blowing her whistle and they’re kicking off from the ground. From then, it seems as though his muscle memory of the years of training with his team at home and the weeks working with his new team at school kicks in, and he’s off in a flash. He and Gideon and Abigail work well together, that had been one of the reasons why James had made it onto the team in the first place, and it’s certainly an advantage now.

He weaves over and under and in between the Ravenclaw players, catching and throwing the Quaffle with an intensity that he’s rarely felt during a match before, the commentator – whose voice James doesn’t recognize – calling out _and it’s going to Potter, to Horlacher, to Prewett, to Horlacher again, to Potter, to oh! Almost intercepted by Ravenclaw’s Bryant! To Prewett again, to – a goal!_

Sirius flies past him, shouting something that sounds like _NICE!_ in the general vicinity of his ear, and James grins.

The match is on the longer side, stretching past the two hour mark, but the speed of their playing makes James feel like it’s flying by. He scores his first goal ten minutes into the match, darting to the left at the last minute and throwing the Quaffle with devastating accuracy into an entirely different hoop than his body had been indicating, sneaking past Conor Vance at the last moment and being rewarded with an ear-splitting roar from the crowd. That’s far from the last time James receives that sort of reaction, as he finds himself getting into a groove the longer he’s in the air. He’s rarely played against another team that they’ve been so evenly matched with, but instead of frustrating or discouraging him the way he thought this realization would, it’s just motivated him to work harder.

He wonders what it would be like if he had this approach to all of his lessons. He supposes he’ll never know and can settle for Remus being the best.

James can hardly hear the commentator over the roar of the crowd. The match is fast, though not particularly dirty – other than Gregor McDougal getting hit by a Bludger, which Madam Hooch had been furious about, as attacking the Keeper was illegal, but had awarded Gryffindor a penalty shot, which Gideon had taken – and ends when M.G. catches the Snitch after a breakneck chase for it against the Ravenclaw Seeker.

The next thing James knows, they’re at one of the traditional after-Quidditch parties in the common room, only this time, he feels like he’s fucking _glowing_ from how much attention he’s getting. People he doesn’t know, people who are _older_ than him, are coming up to him and telling him how good he was, how well they all played, asking him if he trained much before coming to school and how he’s finding the Gryffindor team in comparison. James knows he’s basking in it a little too much to be humble, but he can’t really find it in him to care about that; all he really cares about is that he didn’t fuck up and people _liked_ what he did.

“Is this what being famous feels like?” James murmurs to Sirius, who’s sitting on the arm of his chair.

“Fuck off,” Sirius replies easily, shoving his head. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Sage advice, clearly, from someone who knows _so_ much about fame and everything that goes along with it.”

Sirius snorts. “You’re the Chaser of a school Quidditch team, how famous do you think you are?”

“Just wait ‘til I’m the Captain, I’ll have people queuing to talk to me after matches.”

“Okay, James, and they’ll have to get up on ladders to be able to even reach you, as you’ll be floating away with your massively inflated head,” Remus says, walking up and sitting down on the sofa next to them. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sirius replies.

“Hey,” James also says, but in a miffed tone and with an offended expression.

“How did you find the match?”

“James, are you stupid? You already asked me that, I only walked away to go to the toilet.”

“Did Pete go with you?”

“No, Pete did not,” Peter says, appearing suddenly, and James jumps.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” he says, a hand on his chest. “How did you do that?”

“How did I do _what_?”

“Appear like that, you know, out of thin fucking air.”

Peter looks around in confusion before answering, “I walked?”

It’s conversations like this that lead the general community of Gryffindor House to come to the conclusion that James Potter, the new Chaser, has incredible skills on the pitch and seems to have a lot of physical potential, but when it comes to common sense, there’s just something missing. James resents this assessment of himself, but to be fair, he can’t exactly do anything to dispute it. At least people are still being nice to him for the goals he scored, and for the way the Gryffindor hourglass is looking in the Great Hall, despite laughing good-naturedly at him for the stupid things that slip out of his mouth sometimes.

The Ravenclaw team and supporters, however, seem to be taking the loss with a much sourer disposition than James was really expecting. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think that this was a possibility, but he had never really considered that they might make some enemies between the other Houses after their matches. The administration of the school seems to be holding to the sentiment that the point of the Quidditch Cup was to foster a healthy sense of competition, House pride, and school spirit, but James is coming to realize that all it really does is pit the Houses against each other, and James and Sirius, as new members of the Gryffindor team, have all but painted targets on their backs.

The pressure between the Houses comes to a head when Sirius is accosted by angry Ravenclaw supporters while coming out of Arithmancy with Remus. James, having been in Divination with Peter at the time, wasn’t there to see it, but the story is told clearly from Remus’ angry shouting and the welt on Sirius’ face from a poorly aimed Stinging Hex.

“I can’t _fucking_ believe this, honestly,” Remus is half-shouting, half-grumbling when James and Peter meet up with their friends at their usual spot outside of the Great Hall. Sirius is sitting on a bench, eyes shut, wincing as Remus sits next to him and examines the red mark on his cheek. “That was totally fucking uncalled for.”

“Sorry,” Sirius says, grimacing.

“Not _you_, idiot, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What the fuck?” Peter calls, seeing them sitting on the bench. “What happened?”

Remus looks around as Peter starts to run towards them, James in close pursuit. “What happened? What fucking happened? A trio of goddamn Ravenclaw goons jumped Sirius when we were leaving Arithmancy, that’s what fucking happened.”

“Holy shit,” James breathes.

“Holy shit is _right_, this is how fucking animals act, it’s _Quidditch_,” Remus replies. “I get it, it’s a rivalry, but launching a targeted attack at a member of a sports team just because they won and your team didn’t is immature, unnecessary, and fucking – I don’t know, it should be illegal or something.”

“Remus,” Sirius says, frowning, batting Remus’ hand away from his face. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Remus replies sharply. “What would’ve happened if you’d been by yourself?”

“I can take care of myself, I’m not a baby.”

“You didn’t even get your wand out –”

“Yeah, and I’m glad that you were around and that you _did,_ but it’s _okay_, I should’ve known that this was going to happen.”

James looks at Sirius more closely. The swelling remains of the Stinging Hex are the most noticeable piece of damage, but it looks like he’s been kicked from the way he’s wincing as he sits up straighter.

“Shit,” James says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“Don’t be stupid, you had a lesson on the other side of the castle.”

“Still.”

Sirius shrugs. “I had Remus. And like I said, I would’ve been fine if I had been by myself too.” Remus snorts. “I _would’ve_.”

Just then, Professor McGonagall appears, seemingly from thin air, but James supposes that she’s swiftly stepped out from within the Great Hall. “Lupin! Black!” she shouts, making Peter jump.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

“I just heard a report from Professor Flitwick that the two of you were involved in a fight with three of his students,” McGonagall says tightly, her arms crossed, “and I can see from your face, Black, that he was conveying accurate information. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

There’s a pause, and then all four of the boys start talking at once.

“They didn’t even _do_ anything, Professor, James and I weren’t there, but –”

“Sirius was attacked, I don’t know what Remus did, but I think he was just helping him –”

“It’s because of that _stupid_ Quidditch match, they’re angry that we have good players now, I bet they’re going after James next, and then the rest of the team, and what was I supposed to do, just let Sirius –”

“What do you _mean_ you can see from my face? If anything that should show that I’m the _victim_ here –”

“Stop!” McGonagall commands, raising a hand. “I’ve heard enough.” She looks at them for a moment more, eyes narrowed, then continues sharply, “All of you, my office, since apparently Potter and Pettigrew have things to say about it as well.” She begins to walk, and after a moment, the boys follow suit.

“Shit,” James says. He didn’t mean to, but it just slipped out. He shuts his mouth, praying that McGonagall didn’t hear him.

She doesn’t look back, but says, “Another word like that out of you, Potter, and I’m putting you in detention for the next two nights.”

James’ eyes widen, but the only thing he says is, “Yes, Professor, I’m sorry,” before walking the rest of the way up to McGonagall’s office with his friends in silence.


	7. in which no one listens to james

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!! so, surprise! we're going to a twice-a-week thing. i've written 10k over the course of the last five days-ish because of nanowrimo and am full of content and ideas and a zest for the life of ahmicb as a series. toaw is also starting to be a lot longer than i was expecting it to be, but i'm really liking it!!
> 
> something else: my bf jamie is the one who helped me to plan all of this and has been doing this with me literally for a year and a half - we started posting ahmicb in january of this year, but we'd literally been working on it since the previous march. that's 2018. we'd had it in the works for almost a year before posting it, and i'm so so so incredibly proud of how it's doing so far, even though we've only been posting it for about ten months and are only on year three.
> 
> anyway, jamie wanted to add something to the notes. be nice to him. his @ on twitter is PRlNCElERO (the i's are L's) if you want to go say hi. anyway, this is what he had to say:
> 
> -  
hello jamie/james here i have been mentioned in some of the notes in this i think. i just want to share w everyone how Detailed and Planned this fic is because i think em deserves the praise that comes with working so hard on that. em and i planned the majority of this fic (plot-wise) in one night (i didnt sleep and went to school on 0 sleep) but a lot of the little details have been worked out along the way. some things i think you should all be aware of:
> 
> \- quidditch captain MG mcgonagall is based on the films, the quidditch plaque with james' name on it also says MG mcgonagall. probably a film lore mistake and meant to be The mcgonagall but. now we have gillian  
\- pete having two mums is based on his hp wiki entry which lists family members as 'enid pettigrew' and 'mrs pettigrew' the same person? grandma and mother? well, its two mums now.  
\- we know exactly who is on the quidditch team for every year, and what position they play  
\- we know what class every main character (marauders + girls + emmie, val and conor,, and snape for good measure) is in as i made coordinated timetables for em to refer to so she never contradicts herself  
okay thank u for listening i hope u appreciate these details  
-
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Sirius is expecting McGonagall to yell at them as soon as they sit down in her office, but instead she takes her time getting settled into her own chair and staring at them for what’s probably just a minute or two but feels like a year. Finally she says, “Someone tell me what happened. One at a time, and slowly.”

None of them say anything, but Sirius glances to the side at Remus and sort of jerks his head slightly towards McGonagall to indicate that he should be the one to speak. Remus sighs and sits up straighter.

“Sirius and I were coming out of Arithmancy and we took a sort of back way to avoid having to fight our way through the crowds on the way to the Great Hall. We were going to meet James and Peter outside so that we could all sit together. While we were going through an empty corridor on the seventh floor, three Ravenclaw boys came out from around a corner and hexed Sirius. He dodged the spell mostly, which is why he only has a smallish mark on his face, but they tripped him and one of them kicked him when he fell. I jinxed two of them trying to get them to leave. The third one was looking after his friends so he didn’t follow when Sirius and I left. Then we sat outside the Great Hall and waited for James and Peter. We were going to come to you afterwards.” Remus’ entire speech is surprisingly smooth and well-rehearsed, if a little flat, and Sirius wonders if he was running through the details on the way over in order to be able to relay everything to McGonagall as easily as possible as soon as they got to her office.

She looks as though she’s thinking for a moment, a small wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. Then she says, “Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Potter, you may go.”

James and Peter stand quickly, grabbing their bags and pushing in their chairs. “We’ll wait for you outside,” Peter says quietly before rushing out with James.

McGonagall doesn’t speak for another minute or so. Sirius thinks he’s going to implode. This is one of those times when he’s _sure_ he and Remus didn’t do anything wrong, so if either of them are punished for something like this happening to them, he’s prepared to riot. However, since McGonagall is taking ages to respond to anything Remus has said, he isn’t sure which course of action he needs to take.

Eventually, Sirius can’t take the suspense any longer. “Professor, we – we didn’t do anything wrong,” he blurts out, ignoring Remus’ sharp look. “I know we aren’t supposed to use magic in the corridors, and especially not on other students, but Remus was just looking out for me, he just wanted to make sure I was okay, please don’t get him in trouble for this.”

“Sirius, shut up, it’s fine,” Remus whispers.

“No, no, you’re right, Mr. Black,” McGonagall says. “I needed a moment to think about it. I understand that Quidditch rivalries are intense – I was on the team myself, during my time as a student here – but the reason that I needed time to consider what Mr. Lupin had said was due to the nature of the report that I received from Professor Flitwick. It seems that the students who came to him were implying that Mr. Lupin’s jinxing was unwarranted and that the two of you were the instigators.”

“What?” Sirius asks, aghast. “Have they seen my face?”

“They weren’t left unscathed either,” McGonagall counters, “as unlike your assailant, Mr. Lupin did not miss.”

McGonagall looks at Remus as if waiting for him to say something. Finally, he says, “If you’re wanting me to be sorry for what I did, I’m not.”

“I didn’t expect you to be. I like to think that I know the two of you well enough after three years of teaching you to be able to tell when you’re being sincere about things, and unlike Mr. Black’s excuse for his extremely short _essay_ – if it can be called that – that he attempted to turn in last week, I believe you about this,” McGonagall replies. “I’ll be speaking to Professor Flitwick about his students. You may go to lunch now. And make sure you head to the hospital wing so Madam Pomfrey can sort out that welt on your face.”

“Oh,” Sirius says. “We’re not in trouble?”

“Not today, Mr. Black,” McGonagall says, taking off her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “But if I catch you fighting in the halls again, you will be. I won’t care who started it, we do not tolerate unsupervised dueling at this school.”

The boys stand, leaving the room with scraping chairs and a hasty _yes professor_, and stepping out into the hallway where Peter and James are waiting.

“Well?” Peter asks, a grimace on his face as though he’s tensing in preparation for a huge hit. “How did it go?”

“She wasn’t angry,” Sirius replies, shrugging. “She believed us.”

James frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did she tell you the names of the Ravenclaws?”

“What are you gonna do, James?” Remus says. “Beat them up? Steal their lunch money? They had at least four inches on me, never mind how much bigger they were than Sirius –”

“Hey,” Sirius protests.

“– the only reason why I had anything on them was because I’m fast at spellcasting and because they weren’t expecting me to do anything.”

“Okay, look, I know, they were older and they’re probably coming for me next, but that’s so fucked _up_, they can’t do that,” James grumbles as they start to walk. “We can’t just let them get away with it.”

“They’re not getting away with it, Flitwick and McGonagall know exactly who they are, you think they’re not going to do something about it?” Peter counters.

“No, I think they’re not going to do _enough_ about it.”

“And what’s _enough_?” Sirius asks. “What, do you want to go to Dumbledore? I’m _fine_, you don’t have to worry.”

“No, I don’t want to go to Dumbledore, what is he going to do besides make a convoluted speech at them?” James replies. “I want to do something so that they’ll know to leave us the fuck alone.”

“James is going to break their kneecaps,” Remus says in a stage whisper. Sirius laughs.

“Hey, all I’m saying is that Halloween is coming up and we could take advantage of things happening on the spookiest night of the year,” James says. “I’m sure we could come up with something.”

And come up with something James does. As much as Sirius appreciates being important enough to someone to not let something like this get swept under the rug – a letter does go home to his parents, but upon receiving his mother’s panicked response, Sirius dismisses it and tells her not to worry, so that one getting no attention is down to him – he’s a little shocked at the lengths to which James is willing to go to make certain that this doesn’t happen again.

He details his convoluted plan to the three other boys three days before Halloween, in front of the fire in the common room. The timing is cutting it a little close, in Sirius’ opinion, but he’s finding himself willing to trust James’ process.

It involves the cooperation of several Hogwarts ghosts, several stolen pots of Devil’s Snare from the greenhouses, and a sort of physical intimidation that Sirius has no practice in but that James thinks is necessary for something like this.

“I don’t know,” Peter says after hearing the entire plan. “There are so many holes in this idea, James.”

James throws his hands in the air. “Like what?”

“Like how are we going to get the plants? What if the ghosts don’t help? How are we supposed to know that the Ravenclaws aren’t going to tell Flitwick about this?” Remus rattles off from his lying down position on the sofa. “Also, not to mention the fact that this seems to be an extreme response. I get that they fucked Sirius up, but we don’t have to get thrown out over them.”

“Thanks, Remus, you always know how to express exactly how much you care about me,” Sirius replies.

“Shut up. You’re welcome.”

James groans. “Okay. Fine. I’ll tone it down.”

He ends up refining the plan to just one Devil’s Snare and Nearly-Headless Nick, and once everyone is in agreement over that, the plan is set in motion.

Halloween night comes around, and for the first time since they’d come to Hogwarts, James’ priorities have shifted from winning the costume contest to a different kind of holiday festivities. Sirius can’t say that this bothers him very much; he hadn’t protested when James had proposed taking some sort of action against the Ravenclaws who had jumped him because if he’s being honest, he’s still pissed about it. They’d told the rest of the team as soon as they’d gotten back from the hospital wing that first day, and everyone had been on their toes since then, but Sirius is itching to do something _more_.

Maybe it’s a shit course of action to take, and maybe it isn’t nearly as mature as he thinks he should be trying to be, but Sirius had been ready to jump on James’ suggestion as soon as it had come up. No one else had argued, which he’d appreciated. It had made him feel like his friends really were there for him, exactly how they’d always said they were. Personally, he hadn’t really had a problem with the intensity of James’ initial plan, but he had been glad that Remus and Peter had poked holes in it and made James tone it down before its actual execution.

They head to the feast, as usual, and spend most of it scoping out the Ravenclaw table and picking out the three boys who had attacked Sirius, making sure they knew their faces well enough to get them on their own later on. James had thrown together a group costume for them with the help of Peter’s knowledge of Muggle television (Sirius thinks it’s some sort of superhero group, all he knows is that Peter had been talking about how it wasn’t a complete group since there weren’t enough of them and that he doesn’t really know the details of the costumes, it was just the first thing he thought of and he doesn’t think anyone at Hogwarts will really be able to tell who they are anyway), and they make an appearance at the party in Gryffindor Tower for their standard entry into the costume contest.

Needless to say, their lackluster costumes don’t win them any awards this year, as they’ve had more pressing things on their minds. James doesn’t seem too bothered by it, as he’s been focusing on the impending shenanigans with the Ravenclaws, but when prompted, he brushes off their loss in the costume contest with a wave of his hand and a hasty, “Okay, we had other things to think about, we’ll get them next year.”

“Unless something like this comes up again,” Remus says under his breath, taking off the bizarrely shaped helmet that Peter had made him wear. “In that case, we might have to learn how to multitask.”

“That helmet makes your head look weird.”

“Okay, Sirius, did I say it didn’t? Magneto wears some weird shit.”

“Who the fuck is Magneto?”

“I wish, just once, that you would listen to the things I say,” Peter sighs. “We’re the X-Men, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“I wish you would _stop_ telling me.”

“And I wish you would all focus on the plan!” James interrupts, standing after shedding a pair of fake claws and pulling a jumper on over his head. “We have things to do, we can’t lose focus now!”

The other boys groan and get changed out of their own costumes and into their own clothes. It only takes a few minutes before they’re out the door and heading out into the hall; Sirius can’t help but be thankful that they’re allowed out much later than normal on Halloween, because no one bats an eye at the four of them leaving the common room at nearly ten o’clock at night. The added hassle of having to use the Cloak would’ve really fucked with their timing for the evening, and Sirius is itching to get this over with.

Maybe this is slightly mean-spirited. Maybe it’s not something that he should be looking forward to doing, but he doesn’t really care right now. It was mean-spirited of them to hex him and kick him in the first place.

Okay, maybe he cares a little bit, but the amount of guilt settling into his stomach is much less than the amount of anticipation he has for James’ plan.

The plan itself is simple. Go to Ravenclaw Tower, sneak in after someone else while covered by the Invisibility Cloak, pass a fake invitation to the targets telling them that they should come to the unused classroom on the third floor for _the real party_, follow them there, use Nearly-Headless Nick’s help to scare them into the back corner of the room where the Devil’s Snare is waiting, make sure the room stays dark, leave them there.

“Before anyone objects,” James had said while explaining his revised plan, “it’s not as dark as it seems.”

“Oh, do enlighten us,” Remus had replied sarcastically. “Please, fill me in on the details of how this isn’t potentially murderous.”

“Okay. It’s just one plant, and it’s small, and I positioned it to be a trip wire. Like, it’s only strong enough to curl around their ankles and trip them so that they fall when they try to run from the ghosts, they won’t be hurt, just humiliated.”

“How are they going to be humiliated? No one’s going to see but them,” Peter had added skeptically.

“We could take pictures,” Sirius had said, and while that had initially been a joke, Peter is now grudgingly allowing his camera to be used for this tonight.

Everything seems to be going smoothly as the night goes on. As they’ve been to Ravenclaw Tower before, it isn’t particularly hard to sneak in, especially since they’ve enveloped themselves in James’ Cloak and are just following someone inside. James almost stops to yell at Conor Vance about something – no doubt having to do with Quidditch and how he thinks Sirius being attacked was Conor’s influence, a fact that he’s gone over in great detail since the event – but only gets as far as pointing forcefully under the Cloak before the other boys are hurrying him along to the other side of the room.

In hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to have all four of them under the Cloak; Sirius thinks that they could’ve done it better if just one of them snuck inside and delivered the invitation, or maybe if Sirius himself had attempted to make it in under the guise of a peace offering. However, he thinks that that false pretense might’ve made the feud end up even worse than how they’re about to make it. Sirius isn’t bothered much about it becoming common knowledge that Gryffindor House takes threats against the members of their Quidditch team seriously, but it wouldn’t sit well with him if they’d pretended like they wanted peace but had just used that as a way to launch another attack. Something about that makes him feel dirty. He’d rather people talk shit about Gryffindor by just saying that they’re competitive and sometimes stupid – which is sure to be what people have to say after tonight – than have them questioning their integrity.

Perhaps that’s a stupid outlook to have, given what they’re planning for later tonight, but he doesn’t care.

The invitation is delivered without any hitches in the plan, and sure enough, just a few minutes after the boy that Sirius only assumes is the leader of the group signals to the others and they head out of their common room. James glares at Conor as they pass him, still under the Cloak, but they make it out into the corridor behind the trio fairly quickly, as the Ravenclaw common room has never been particularly crowded, wild, or difficult to navigate.

In the hall, none of them dare to speak, following the Ravenclaw boys from about ten feet behind them, stepping as softly as they can manage. It’s particularly difficult to walk quietly when they’re all crammed under a Cloak meant for a single adult, not four teenagers, and when both Remus and James have, most inconsiderately, decided to keep increasing in height every day, for some reason. It’s a long walk from Ravenclaw Tower down to the third floor, but Peter remembers a shortcut that manages to get them to their destination before the other boys so that they’re waiting by the door to the classroom before their targets arrive.

Remus’ eyes narrow as they approach. “Are they drunk?”

“Huh,” Peter says as the four of them observe the Ravenclaws’ weaving walks and loud conversations. “This might be easier than we’d thought.”

Sirius reaches out and pushes open the door to the classroom, none of the approaching students seeming to notice his disembodied arm, as he’d had to emerge from the depths of the Cloak to make that happen. He thinks he sees one of them do a double take when entering the classroom, but he either dismisses it as a drunken hallucination or some sort of Halloween trick, because he doesn’t seem particularly bothered as soon as Sirius’ arm is out of sight.

The door to the classroom shuts behind them, and there’s a pause before anyone moves or speaks. The seed of guilt sitting in Sirius’ stomach has taken root, most unfortunately, and he says suddenly, “We could just lock them in there.”

“What?” James asks, pulling the Cloak off of all of them with a flourish and frowning at Sirius deeply. “After all the work I went to trying to make this happen?”

Sirius shrugs. “Look, they’re already drunk, I don’t think we need to scare them, if they can’t leave the classroom that might do the work for us.”

As if to punctuate Sirius’ point, there’s a shout from the classroom, immediately followed by groans and giggles. Peter steps forward, eyebrows raised, and peeks through the classroom with his camera in hand. He snaps a quick picture then leans back to look at his friends, a supremely unimpressed expression on his face. “We didn’t even have to do anything, they didn’t trip on the Devil’s Snare, they tripped on each other.”

“Oh,” James says, sounding disappointed. “Great.”

“I can still make copies of this picture and we can put it up around the school,” Peter says, shrugging. “I mean, it’s embarrassing enough, you can tell they’re drunk. One of them might’ve pissed himself.”

“Just make sure to send them one at breakfast via owl before putting them up,” Remus suggests. “Put in a note telling them that if they don’t want to look more stupid they’ll stop fucking with the Gryffindor team, and when they no doubt continue fucking with you, then we put them up all over the school.”

“See, look at that, compromise,” Sirius says cheerily, pushing open the door again. “Pete, do you want to go take some more pictures? We can call this a study in the human form or something.”

“Wow, thank you, Sirius, the lengths to which you’re willing to go in order to help me improve in my art are astounding,” Peter replies before heading into the classroom to get close-ups.

“What do you _mean_, the lengths to which _Sirius_ is willing to go? I’m the one who organized this!” James exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “No one listens to me.”

James looks around, clearly searching for a reaction, to which he gets Remus saying, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” He lets out an exasperated noise and sits down on the floor until Peter gets back.


	8. in which conor's hand is shaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my friends and my readers and everyone who falls into the middle section of the venn diagram. thank you thank you thank you
> 
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Surprisingly, absolutely no repercussions follow the posting of embarrassing pictures of a trio of Ravenclaw sixth years around the school, because no one seems to know who the culprits are. McGonagall, of course, has a suspicion, and the boys are called into her office and interrogated, but miraculously they seem to convince her just enough that they had nothing to do with this to get away without any punishment. The pictures are taken down almost immediately, but not before being seen by everyone in the school. Remus has heard about copies of the pictures circulating in the common rooms and toilets, but despite their continued movement around the school, the only thing that really comes of them is a deepening divide between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw supporters and a stern speech from the Heads of Houses telling their students that _if any of you pull anything like this again or in retaliation we’re cancelling Quidditch_.

That’s enough of a threat to make James stop his talk about the plans for their next steps, which Remus is grateful for if only for the fact that they were getting fucking annoying to listen to. Yes, he appreciates the lengths to which James is willing to go to defend the honor of their House and their slighted friend, but the constant talking about it was an unwelcome addition to their daily conversations.

Remus knows Sirius and Peter had been a bit apprehensive about James’ plan from the beginning, especially considering how casually he’d suggested it, but it’s clear that there wasn’t any malicious intent behind James’ reasoning. Despite how often James is possibly one of the stupidest people that Remus has ever met, he knows that in this case, the only thing that James was thinking about was making it right for Sirius; he didn’t care about the possible lack of regulation with a dangerous plant or scaring people so badly that they could’ve potentially gotten hurt. Remus understands that – he thinks he was willing to go further in order to make sure that something like this didn’t happen again.

There’s been no word from the teachers on the tensions rising between the Houses other than the initial reprimanding once the pictures had been posted, but Remus has noticed that the classes they share with the Ravenclaws are more structured and regulated, and every so often he’ll see an extra teacher lingering in the back of some classrooms to make certain that nothing happens. This is particularly common in classes like History of Magic, where Professor Binns literally couldn’t pay less attention to his students and what’s going on in the class, so if something were to start, it would be immediate. However, during their last lesson, Professor McGonagall had apparently had a free period, so she had been sitting in a chair in the back of the room, keeping a watchful eye over all of them.

Unless Remus’ eyes were deceiving him, during that lesson, his eye had repeatedly been caught by Conor Vance, on the other side of the classroom, trying to get the attention of someone in their group. Remus hadn’t paid him any mind – judging from the current events, he’d been trying to speak to either James or Sirius, neither of whom actually acknowledged him.

After the lesson, Conor makes a beeline to their desks, a blonde girl close behind him. Remus has never seen her before in his life, but he’s guessing that she’s Conor’s friend or something judging from the concerned expression on her face when he makes his way over to the Gryffindor side of the classroom.

“What’s up, Gryffs?” Conor asks, his tone a bit more guarded than normal, but his expression still neutral.

There’s a brief moment where no one speaks, everyone pausing in the middle of packing their school bags. Finally, Peter says, “Hey.”

“Pete!” James hisses, smacking him lightly on the arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t you know about the current political climate? We don’t speak to the enemy!”

“Shut up, James, look at his face, he’s here for a truce,” Peter replies, frowning at James’ hand.

Remus glances over at Sirius briefly, who’s leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look particularly unfriendly, but his expression tells Remus at least that he would rather Conor just say what needed to be said instead of hanging around.

“Look, I just wanted to say –” Conor begins and then stops, glancing at the girl next to him. She raises her eyebrows at him. “What?”

“You wanted to come over here and talk to them, and now you don’t know what you want to say?” she asks. “Why didn’t you plan anything?”

“I _did_, Emmie, god,” Conor protests. “I just got nervous.”

Emmie – at least that’s what Remus is guessing her name is – rolls her eyes. “I’m gonna go save us a seat at lunch,” she says, instead of berating him further, then pats him on the arm and leaves.

There’s another pause, not as long as the one before, until Sirius breaks it with, “Yes?”

“Oh, right,” Conor rushes out, “okay, I just wanted to say that no one on the team was involved with you getting jumped, I know that sounds like an excuse but I wanted to make sure you knew that there aren’t any hard feelings on our end and we wouldn’t do that.”

Sirius doesn’t reply for a beat, but when he does, he just says slowly, “I believe you.”

“You _what_?” James exclaims, his voice coming out in a squawk.

“You have ears, you heard what I said,” Sirius replies, raising a hand vaguely as if in a motion to ask what the fuck James’ problem is. “I believe him.”

James narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything further, just watching as Sirius stands up fully from his leaning position and extends his hand for Conor to shake.

“Truce?”

Conor grins, taking Sirius’ hand. “Yeah, truce. I didn’t think there was much of a feud between us _personally_ anyway, but you know. The principle of the thing.”

Sirius starts to laugh, but they’re interrupted by the sudden, sharp sound of McGonagall sticking her head back in the classroom door and barking, “Don’t you boys have somewhere to get to?” causing all five of them to jump backwards from each other as though they’d been doing something against the rules.

There’s a delicate pink coloring Sirius’ cheekbones and Remus isn’t completely sure why – all he knows is that when McGonagall interrupted the conversation Sirius let go of Conor’s hand like he’d been burned.

This isn’t something that Remus would normally think much about – Sirius having a weird reaction to something normal isn’t anything new, he’s a weird kid, Remus isn’t surprised – but something about it today unsettles him. He brushes it off and they leave the classroom, Conor waving to them and rushing off in the direction of the dungeons, saying something about being late to Potions, as soon as they’re out the door.

“Where is he going?” Peter asks after a moment. “Don’t we have lunch?”

Sure enough, a few minutes after they’ve sat down at the Gryffindor table, Conor enters the Great Hall, looking significantly embarrassed but trying to not to be noticeable, and heads over to the Ravenclaw table, to sit next to Emmie. At least, Remus thinks he’s sitting next to Emmie, he can’t really tell from the distance and the sheer number of heads between their table and the Ravenclaws. There’s also the small matter that he doesn’t fully remember what Emmie looks like, but that isn’t important.

“What are you doing?” James asks sharply, fork in hand.

Sirius, eyes lingering somewhere near the other side of the room, jumps slightly. “Nothing.”

“Were you looking at the Ravenclaws? Staking out the competition?” James asks sagely. “Smart move.”

Remus frowns. “Where did you get _that _from?”

“Okay, listen, Remus, I was talking to Sirius. Why else would he be watching the Ravenclaws? It’s about Quidditch, you wouldn’t get it.”

“I _get_ it, I just don’t _care_.”

“I wasn’t staking out the competition,” Sirius protests, that same pink tinge showing up again. “The human eye follows movement, I was distracted. Besides, there’s no competition to stake out, we have a truce.”

“Just because you shook Conor’s hand doesn’t mean we’ve stopped having matches against Ravenclaw! They’re still our main rivals for the Cup! This just means we aren’t beating each other up anymore!”

“I was in the middle of _speaking_, nice to see how much you care about what I have to say,” Peter grumbles in fake-upset. “_Following movement _my arse, I was telling a story that had hand motions in it and I’m willing to bet you didn’t absorb a single second of it.”

“I’m sorry, Pete, I’m so sorry,” Sirius says, far more apologetically than is necessary, reaching across the table to take Peter’s hands in his. “Please forgive me.”

“You’re stupid,” Peter says, sighing dramatically. He pulls his hands out of Sirius’ grasp and uses one to pat the side of his face. “I forgive you, though. As long as you listen to the rest of my story.”

The other three boys immediately assume positions of rapt attention and don’t take their eyes off of Peter for the rest of his tale, which involves a letter he received from his parents enclosing a picture of his dog and a lengthy description of how he escaped with seven sheep and ended up in the next town, being simultaneously cursed and hailed as potential new town mascots – by the children – by the time they were tracked down.

Peter finishes his story, but immediately, as though he came to this conclusion as the last word of the tale he’s been regaling them with comes out of his mouth, he leaps to a new train of thought with a deftness that has Remus blinking in surprise. “Oh!” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Sirius, your birthday’s on Saturday.”

Sirius has to take a full thirty seconds to absorb that. Remus doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but he can hazard a guess that his birthday has been the absolutely last thing on Sirius’ mind this year. What with their new, harder lessons, making the Quidditch team, and the general state of distraction that Sirius has seemed to be living in this year, Remus isn’t at all surprised that he’s forgotten his own birthday.

“Shit,” Sirius says a moment later, “you’re right.”

It only takes a few more minutes of discussion for Sirius to come to the conclusion that this year, instead of doing nothing for his birthday other than having the traditional multiple cakes from his friends, he’s going to throw a party. The argument for this is that they finally have enough social sway – apparently, being part of the Quidditch team lends a certain weight to one’s status among the population of the school, though Remus has never noticed popularity only belonging to the sporting elite over the course of his time at Hogwarts – to get enough people to come to an event solely for Sirius.

The other bit of evidence that the party will be a success is the knowledge that Sirius comes from an affluent and well-known family in the wizarding community, and that in itself means any sort of social event that he orchestrates will likely be well-funded and something that, if possible, you wouldn’t want to miss. Sirius barely seems aware of this; he has an easy surety in his planning of his birthday party and ends up deciding just to put up posters around the school once he’s managed to convince McGonagall that this was a reasonable night of festivities for her to sign off on. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by refining the guest list or making sure that the people who strongly dislike him around the school – a number that seems to Remus to be growing the more Sirius shows that his actions are more indicative of a model Gryffindor rather than the heir to the ancient and most noble house of Black – are prevented from making an appearance.

Remus wonders if Sirius legitimately thinks that shaking hands with Conor Vance made everyone in the school like him again. He sort of envies that outlook, but at the same time, he can’t fucking believe that Sirius is that naïve. However, with Sirius’ birthday approaching, Remus isn't about to start any fights, as Sirius tends to be much more temperamental as the day nears.

That’s a habit of his that Remus hadn’t noticed for a while, but now that their group is heading into their third year of both knowing each other and attending school together, Remus likes to think that he’s gotten to know his friends fairly well. Sirius, for example, is much more easily offended around the third of November. Remus strongly suspects that this has to do with the massive deal that Sirius’ parents no doubt make of his birthday, and the fact that as the first son of an incredibly wealthy household, Sirius has been spoiled beyond anything that Remus can imagine for himself. James has behaved similarly for as long as they’ve celebrated his birthday as a group, and Remus is mentally preparing himself for when that day approaches in March.

Remus never expects anything like that from Peter, but that’s just because he knows Peter didn’t go through his childhood being treated like he was handcrafted by angels. This is part of the reason why Peter is Remus’ favorite, but he isn't about to say that to James and Sirius.

Remus keeps a lot of things to himself that he doesn’t intend to say to James or Sirius as they put together posters for Sirius’ party while sitting on the floor of their room. For some reason, no one figures out that they could use a Duplication Spell on a single poster to make copies and put that up around the school until they’ve already put together a stack of about fifteen, and by that point it’s about the principle of the thing.

“We’ve already done this much, we can’t stop now,” Sirius says vehemently, waving around a fat felt tip pen from one of Peter’s endless collections. “Besides, we only need about five more.”

“Look, I wouldn’t be complaining if you’d chosen a less wordy slogan for these, but my hand is cramping,” Peter grumbles, opening and closing said hand with a slight grimace on his face.

“My hand’s fine,” James replies breezily. “Maybe you just don’t have the same endurance as I do, Pete.”

“Endurance?” Remus repeats wryly. “What sort of activity is your hand getting that makes you have a less difficult time with repetitive motion, James? Something you’d like to share with the group?”

James blushes furiously at Remus’ implications as Sirius lets out a loud burst of laughter and Peter goes _oooh_ under his breath while picking up his felt tip pen again to continue his work on his poster.

“I was talking about _Quidditch_,” James protests, but his statements are steamrollered by his friends laughing about other uses James clearly has for his right hand.


	9. in which peter auditions for bake off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here we are at the start of what ends up being three extremely long chapters that are only about the events of november 2nd and 3rd, 1973. there's a lot that happens. it's a rollercoaster. it's the party shit. get ready!
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

_You’re invited – yes, you, reading this sign right now – to the first annual Hogwarts birthday celebration of the one, the only, the legendarily dashing and universally adored **Sirius Orion Black**! Make your way to the Great Hall on the night of the third of November to party until the break of dawn with the rest of the school. Be there or be a loser – and you don’t want to be one of those!_

_Admission: open. Black tie: optional. Dancing shoes: required. Time: 8:00pm. Hors d’oeuvres: provided. Rules: **NONEXISTENT.**_

Posters bearing this message appear around the school approximately a day and a half before the actual event is supposed to be happening, and to be honest, Peter is surprised by the overwhelming responses that they’ve been getting already. Some of the things that people have been asking them – and he’s saying _them_ because as an established best friend of the birthday boy in question, Peter’s been getting a lot of inquiries directed at him as though he knows all of the answers – have been solely to do with the dress code, seeing as Sirius’ wording had made it seem like the attendees would have to produce a set of dress robes from thin air, but a fair portion of them have been more along the lines of _did he really mean everyone’s invited?_

This is a question that has been demanded of Sirius after nearly every lesson on Friday, the second of November, just over twenty-four hours before he’s meant to be throwing a spectacular birthday bash that had only just barely been approved the night before. Apparently, the idea that the entire school would be allowed to attend was not something that McGonagall had been aware of when she’d signed off on the party, which is unsurprising, given how distracted she’d seemed to be when Sirius had asked her, so now the questions are being thrown at them from every possible angle from every possible adult to cross their paths.

Eventually, to stop the confusion and to clear everything up in one fell swoop, at dinner that night, McGonagall stands at the podium and demands the attention of everyone in the Great Hall, verbally adding an addendum to Sirius’ countless birthday posters:

“As I’m certain you’re all aware, a certain student is having a birthday party tomorrow evening –” she’s interrupted by a large cheer from about 80% of the student body, in response to which Sirius stands and waves benevolently to the room, looking like some sort of legend attending the concert of someone who’d looked up to them for years and who’d just been acknowledged by the artist on stage, “– and since there’s been some confusion about the events I would like to clear up the details for everyone now.”

“Are people going to be pissed about this?” James asks under his breath.

“How should I know?” Remus replies, frowning. “She didn’t talk to me about it, she talked to Sirius.”

“You’re a good judge of character, I just thought I’d ask.”

“I’m slightly insulted that you didn’t ask me,” Peter says in a miffed tone. “Remus doesn’t care enough about people to pay attention to what would or wouldn’t bother them, you should’ve asked _me._”

“Pete was there, too,” Sirius says absently, eyes fixed on McGonagall. “Wait, shh, she’s continuing.”

McGonagall had been waiting for about fifteen seconds for the assembled students to settle down from their raucous chatter about the party, eventually growing impatient enough to command, “Silence!” before continuing slightly sourly, “Now that you’ve finished, we’re clarifying a few details.” McGonagall produces a small piece of parchment from the pocket of her robes and reads off, “The dress code is casual, the _black tie: optional _section was apparently a joke. Dancing shoes are not a brand, and you do not need to purchase them to attend the party. It will _not_ be lasting until the break of dawn, despite what Mr. Black printed on his poster – the band will be done playing at midnight. Finally, I’ve been asked to read out a message from Mr. Black –” and here McGonagall sounds infinitely unimpressed by the statement Sirius has crafted, “– that says gifts are not mandatory or expected, the gift of your attendance is enough and that’s. That’s why it’s called your _presence_.”

Sirius mouths the words along with McGonagall as she reads them out flatly, an expression on her face as though she’d rather be on her hands and knees scrubbing the second floor girls’ toilets – the one that always floods because of that ghost – than being forced to intone Sirius’ utterly shit puns to the entire school. Sirius doesn’t seem to think that it’s anything but brilliant, however, and listens with rapt attention as McGonagall reads it out, whispering a little _yes!_ when a polite chuckle ripples through the room.

Sirius turns to his friends. “Nice, wasn’t it?”

Remus stares at him. “You’re such an idiot.”

Peter doesn’t exactly ask how Sirius managed to convince their teachers and the school administration that he should be allowed to throw a massive party in the Great Hall two days after he asked, mainly because he doesn’t think he’d get a straight answer. Sirius tends to be cagey about certain things, things that Peter can’t quite fit into a category, and this is one of those things. Eventually, without asking, Peter puts it together from the context clues of how things progress on the day leading up to the party: Sirius got permission for this purely because the only thing that the teachers are going to have to do is be present as chaperones to make sure everything goes smoothly and that no one dies.

He’d originally thought that maybe Sirius had been granted permission for his fourteenth birthday party because McGonagall had felt badly for when he’d been jumped by the Ravenclaw students after the Quidditch match, or maybe because there had been some hopes for this all-inclusive event smoothing things over and patching the rift across the student population, but Peter quickly comes to the conclusion that this isn't the case. Sirius has a clipboard and a detailed list of everything happening on Saturday, and he’s up surprisingly early with a crease between his eyebrows and one of Peter’s pens tapping his lower lip and a hand raking through his hair every thirty seconds in what Peter thinks is a manifestation of his nerves.

It’s not even seven in the morning, but Sirius’ pacing wakes Peter from his notoriously light sleep, and rather than have the same fate befall James and Remus, Peter quietly dresses and pulls Sirius out of the dorm by his elbow, dragging him down to the common room to do his pacing in front of the fireplace with Peter sitting on the sofa and watching in wear a path into the rug.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks after a moment, frowning.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sirius obviously lies, brows knit together. “I just put this together so fast and I hope it goes well.”

The pieces of the party aren’t meant to come together or even arrive at the castle until the late afternoon, as the Great Hall will be in use until at least seven that evening, but Sirius won’t stop pacing. Eventually, in an attempt to soothe his anxiety that’s appearing far too early in the day, Peter takes the list from Sirius, eyes roaming over it in surprise.

“What?” Sirius asks upon seeing Peter’s expression. “Is something wrong?”

Peter doesn’t want to be crass – he knows that in polite conversation, the rule of thumb is that you’re not supposed to talk about money, politics, or religion. However, the conversation that Peter has had with Sirius over the course of the past few years has been consistently anything but polite, so he says it anyway. “How much did this cost?”

Sirius waves a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s not an issue.”

Peter, eyebrows raised, says nothing.

He understands now how Sirius was able to put this together in so short of a span of time and how he managed to wrangle permission for an event like _this_ – the paper is riddled with evidence that Sirius has gone out of his way to cover all bases and to make certain that no one from the school has had to do anything to accommodate him other than using the Great Hall. Peter had known this, Sirius had mentioned it, but he wasn’t aware of exactly how much that entailed until seeing Sirius’ plan for the day. He supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised, considering Sirius has seen his mother organizing massive and involved events for the wizarding elite for his entire life; he’s bound to have picked up on names of quality companies to employ and ways to go about organizing things, but the services that are detailed on Sirius’ itinerary are the clearest indication of the size of the Black family’s bank account that Peter has seen in all his time spent with Sirius so far.

There’s a line about when the setup and cleanup crew arrives to move things and redecorate the Great Hall, there’s a line about the band and their crew, there’s a line about the catering company and their house elves – Peter’s astounded that Sirius even went so far as to hire a catering company so that he didn’t have to ask the Hogwarts kitchens to accommodate for him – and that’s not even considering the raw materials that needed to be provided in order to put an event like this on. Peter doesn’t know much about organizing parties, but he knows that having items and services provided to this level and on such short notice should incur extra fees, and the fact that Sirius seems completely unconcerned about that almost makes Peter feel ashamed for himself for not having the same flippant attitude, the same nonchalance towards spending.

He’s starting to realize, looking at this list, that if you have enough money, you can do almost anything. That isn't an inspiring thought, it’s more of a troubling one, but Peter just shakes his head and waits for Sirius to say something more.

He’s perched on the arm of one of the chairs, one leg bouncing up and down restlessly as he watches Peter’s expression. Peter has another realization then – a sudden surety that Sirius, who’s never truly displayed frivolity like this in regards to money before, is bending over backwards like this because the biggest things he’s worrying about right now are the things that are on his mind at all times: not being an inconvenience, making a good impression and having people like him.

“It’s going to be great,” Peter says then. “I’ll help you, we can get it set up together.” They’re empty, standard words that are meant to soothe and get Sirius past this early morning worry. To Peter’s relief, they seem to work just enough that the tension goes out of Sirius’ shoulders somewhat.

“Thanks, Pete,” he says, and Peter hadn’t realized that his voice was so tight until he hears it loosen.

“Though I’m not sure you’ll even need my help, with the amount of people you’re bringing in,” Peter teases, and Sirius shoves his shoulder lightly, taking back the list with a little grin on his face, noticeably more relaxed.

The rest of the day passes relatively quickly, with Sirius busying himself with party preparations to the point where he’s all but completely consumed by his to-do list and the other boys leaving him to his tasks and keeping out of his way unless he specifically asks them for something. With the intensity that Sirius has about this, Peter thinks it’s like Sirius is planning something of much more consequence, like someone else’s party or a wedding or some sort of event that a lot more people are depending on, instead of a quickly thrown together party for their fellow students, but Sirius is focused to the point that without discussing it, his three best friends simultaneously come to the conclusion to give him as much space as possible during the period of limbo before people begin to arrive in the evening to start setting things up.

Peter eventually relocates from the common room to the kitchens, bringing James and Remus with him in an attempt to give Sirius a wider berth to do his completely necessary pacing. As Peter finishes the batter for the second of the three cakes he’s making for tonight – a tradition of making one cake for every year that they’ve celebrated a birthday together that continues to live on as they enter their third year at Hogwarts – James, perched on one of the benches and eating a toastie handed to him by one of the many house elves, says, “I don’t get why he’s so stressed out about this.”

He doesn’t have to specify which _he_ the subject of the conversation is. Remus, sitting very still but with his eyes fixed on the completed batter that Peter has just set aside as he searches for cake tins, replies, “I mean, he probably just wants to make a good impression. You know how he is.”

Remus doesn’t have to elaborate, and he doesn’t. His hand just darts out quickly as Peter’s slightly turned away, so all he sees out of the corner of his eye is Remus reaching a single finger into the bowl and scooping some of the cake batter onto the tip. In the time it takes Peter to turn around completely, Remus has eaten the cake batter on his finger, cleaned his hand off completely, and hidden it behind his back, eyes wide, as if the position he’s sitting in made him look unsuspicious.

Peter just sighs. “You’re going to get salmonella.”

James frowns. “There’s no fish in that cake, is there?”

“Salmonella, it’s a disease,” Remus says dismissively, waving the hand he’d used to steal the batter through the air. He’d missed a spot on his knuckle where the batter had dripped in his haste to sneak his hand out of the bowl, and Peter narrows his eyes at the evidence. “From raw eggs and shit. Did no one tell you about that?”

“No, I don’t think so,” James says, shrugging. “Or maybe they did, but I kind of just thought my mum was making it up when she said I could get sick from licking the spoon or something.”

“I mean, you can, but it’s less likely than people seem to think.” Remus steals the spoon as Peter reaches for the bowl to pour it into Peter’s now-located cake tins, handing it to James, who grabs it eagerly.

“I need that.”

“Can I lick it first?” James asks, the spoon an inch from his mouth.

“Alright, fine, I need a taste tester,” Peter replies, and though from his phrasing his tone should come across disgruntled, he’s far more good-natured about the whole situation than his words are implying. He grabs a spoon from the bench and proceeds to use it to direct the stream of batter as he upends the mixing bowl over the cake tins.

“Ooh, lemon,” James exclaims, but in an oddly conversational tone, a moment later.

“You know,” Remus says slowly, completely disregarding James’ statement, “Sirius is probably stressed out about this because of his family shit.”

“What family shit? This doesn’t have anything to do with their politics.”

“Pete, _everything_ has to do with politics, you’ve seen them.”

James is frowning, tapping the spoon’s edge against his lower lip. “You may be right.”

Remus makes an expression of mock surprise, placing a hand on his chest lightly. “Why, Mr. Potter, I never thought to hear those glorious words coming out of your mouth. You astound me.”

“Shut up,” James replies, laughing. “I just mean, you know, I went to the party with them over the summer. He was stressed out then, too. Not like this, not really, because it wasn’t like he was in _charge_ of it, but it was enough that it was noticeable.”

“Noticeable how?” Peter asks, straightening up after placing the cakes in the oven. He isn't surprised, given what he’s seen of Sirius already today, but it’s somehow still hard to reconcile his perception of Sirius – societally educated, conversationally trained, poised, old money Sirius – with today and with what James is saying.

James shrugs again. Peter gets the impression that he’s trying to make it look like this is casual, like he hadn’t paid this close attention to his friend, but Peter doesn’t know why that would be something James was worried about, as they’re all hyper aware of each other at all times. This is nothing different, but James shrugs as he says, “I don’t know, he just seemed so _aware_ of what people thought of him. And I know he’s just like that in general, and that’s not surprising judging from where we were, I was nervous too, but… he was intent on it, and I think it’s because he’s supposed to not fuck up ever.”

“His parents paid for tonight,” Peter says after a beat.

Remus makes a face. “No shit, Pete, Sirius doesn’t have an income. Of course they did.”

“No, I mean he’s probably wanting it to go well to like… I don’t know, show them that he can do shit on his own and that he’s trustworthy,” Peter elaborates, gesturing vaguely. He hadn’t realized until he moved just then that he’s still wearing oven mitts from moving racks around before putting the cakes in. He removes them and sets them on the bench.

“I don’t know how to help him with this,” James says, hesitantly.

There’s a pause.

Rather than giving James any sort of well thought out answer, Remus instead looks over his shoulder and calls in the vague direction of the house elves, “Does anyone have any firewhiskey?”


	10. in which the festivities begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> party part 2!! enjoy
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmkmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

It had originally been a joke, Remus explains afterwards, bewildered, but when the bottle of firewhiskey had appeared essentially from thin air and had bobbed across the room to them held above the head of a house elf who’d pressed it into Remus’ hand with a deep bow, the plan to help Sirius be less stressed by giving him alcohol had become a legitimate one.

James, to be honest, feels like a bit of a stick in the mud after a deep frown had appeared on his face when Remus had made this suggestion. It isn't like he has a _problem_ with the drinking – in fact, once he’d warmed to the plan, there had been a little thrill of excitement in his stomach at the anticipation for later tonight – it’s that he’s nervous about getting caught, and if this is the right thing to do for Sirius, and if something bad would happen because he’s pretty sure none of them have ever _really_ drank before.

However, the ease with which they’d obtained the firewhiskey and the urging from the house elves that if they needed any more to come see them had led to the three of them acting like this had been part of the plan all along and nestling the bottle at the bottom of Peter’s basket of baking supplies that he didn’t want to leave in the kitchen in order to sneak it up to their dorm.

The walk up to Gryffindor Tower that afternoon is brisk and involves a quick and focused discussion about the impending evening and the alcohol in Peter’s basket.

_Is it peer pressure?_ No, because they’re not going to force Sirius to drink if he doesn’t want to. _Is this okay at all_? Yes, it’s his birthday, and it’s not like they’d be the first and only underage teens to get ahold of alcohol, especially if it’s this easy. _When do we suggest it to him?_ Not until the party is already going – if he thinks too much about it before things get started it’s likely to make it worse.

They finish the conversation and are agreed on the steps going forward before they even reach the seventh floor, and James feels like this is a far more business-like and professional discussion than is really warranted for the subject matter, but he can’t help it, he’s nervous. James is a good kid. The slight belligerence he’s exhibited at school has been the first time he’s really acted out in his entire life, and despite his consistent talk about his willingness to fight anyone at school who he has even a slight rivalry with, James is fairly certain that every student here knows that it’s exactly that – talk.

This isn't to say that he’s a good kid to the point that he doesn’t want to do anything illicit at all, ever, over the course of his life. No, this is just to say that he doesn’t know how to go about any of it right now, considering he has no experience with _anything_. James doesn’t particularly think that any of his other friends have much more experience than he does – in fact, he _knows_ that Sirius doesn’t, and he’s mostly sure that Peter doesn’t either – but Remus is somehow filled with a surety about this that makes James feel somehow both soothed and inadequate.

James doesn’t voice these concerns, though. Instead, as they enter the common room and see Sirius lying on his back on the floor in front of their favorite fireplace, his legs hooked around the seat of the sofa as though he’s sitting in some sort of reverse chair, holding his clipboard above his face and reading its contents with an intensity that James is almost alarmed by, he makes a beeline for his friend and sits down next to him, back against the sofa that Sirius has his legs on.

“What’s up?” he says lightly, as though Sirius hasn’t been tightly wound the entire day.

“Nothing,” Sirius replies, and to his credit, he sounds remarkably calm. James is fairly certain that it’s a farce, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Killing time.”

“What did time ever do to you?” Remus asks mildly as he sits down on the floor as well, back to the fireplace, Peter setting his basket down in one of the armchairs and taking a seat on the rug, which makes James want to laugh at how it’s the opposite of what it should be.

Sirius tilts his head back against the floor to sullenly glare at Remus from an upside-down position, narrowing his eyes. “You’re supposed to be nice to me, it’s my birthday.”

“I’ve never respected my elders.”

Sirius doesn’t move for a moment, but then he narrows his eyes further and reaches behind – above? James isn't sure – himself sharply with the clipboard still in hand and moves it in a swift arc to crack against Remus’ knee.

“Fuck!” Remus exclaims sharply, causing the attention of several other students in the common room to turn on them. “What was that for?” Sirius just shrugs, somewhat ineffectively, considering he’s lying on his back.

Remus doesn’t press the issue further, possibly because he knows how touchy Sirius is today, but his intensity about the later events of the day seems to be lessening the later they get in the day. Peter starts talking about the cakes that they spent the afternoon putting together and James adds how proud he is that he and Remus helped with them and Remus keeps glancing towards the basket of baking supplies and seems to be wanting to say something about the firewhiskey hidden in the bottom, but he manages to restrain himself and instead makes lightly teasing comments about James’ decorating skills and how his knee hurts from Sirius’ clipboard.

They don’t go to dinner. James figures that they’re going to be doing enough later that they don’t really _need_ to eat at exactly the time that they normally do, especially considering they’d had to painstakingly write out verbiage about the provided hors d’oeuvres at the event so they’re all extremely aware of the provided food. Plus, he doesn’t think they’d be able to convince Sirius to leave the dorm before he _has_ to, anyway. Every so often, someone comes over to ask Sirius a question about the party, in response to which he immediately puts on a voice of excitement and surety and swings himself into an upright position in order to accurately answer their queries and convey that he does, in fact, want them there and want to throw a party.

Sometimes James wonders if that’s the case; he isn't really sure if Sirius _wants_ this sometimes, but he thinks that the list of things that Sirius would volunteer for if he didn’t actually want to do them is a very short one, and Sirius had been the one to suggest this.

After dinner would have ended, had they decided to go, the boys head up to their dorm and get dressed in what Sirius has loosely defined as _party clothes_, which means it’s a step above what they’d wear normally, but not formal enough that they can’t have a good time.

“Look, I’m not my dad,” Sirius had replied when someone asked him in the hallway what the dress code was like earlier that day, despite McGonagall’s announcements that were supposedly meant to clear up all logistical questions, “I don’t expect you to wear _dress_ robes, just show up in whatever you want and have a good time.”

He’s also been getting a lot of questions about what he wants for his birthday, but he’s managed to brush all of those off.

James is fairly certain that there have also been conversations circulating the castle about how Sirius is doing this for attention or because he’s trying to buy his way into the hearts of his fellow classmates, and while hearing that had made James seethe with anger over the total misjudgment of his friend, he also isn't surprised that people have been saying that, if only for the extravagance of the event. Part of him worries that these sentiments are going to become worse after the party, but he thinks if everything goes well that might completely dissipate from the general emotion of the school.

Sirius might be having these same kinds of thoughts, James realizes, which is part of why he wants things to be so smooth tonight. Then again, he isn't even sure if Sirius is aware of the talk about him around the school currently, so James isn't about to mention it on the off chance that he hasn’t heard anything.

However, that isn't really the focus of the currently moment. The four of them are ducking around and squeezing past and stepping on each other in their tiny bathroom that was clearly meant for only one person at a time, all in an attempt to see enough into the mirror to make sure that they look nice. James is paying particular attention to his hair, which he thinks has been markedly improved by his increase in Quidditch playing, as it’s looked noticeably windswept in a way that he thinks conveys a good message to the people of their school.

Remus, also messing with his hair, is standing towards the far wall of the bathroom, as his height advantage combined with Sirius and Peter leaning in closer and leaving the bathroom frequently gives him a solid vantage point into the mirror. He blinks in the mirror suddenly, James notices as he adjusts the collar of his shirt, as though he’s realized something. “Do we have to be downstairs to help things get set up?” he asks, turning towards the bathroom door to direct the question to Sirius.

“No, my cousin’s helping organize things,” Sirius says from the floor of their room, pulling on what look to be black boots.

“What are _those_?” Peter asks incredulously, looking at them with a stunned expression.

“Do you like them?” Sirius asks. James thinks he can hear a hint of uncertainty in Sirius’ tone as he laces them and stands. “They make me taller.”

“They’re – they’re something,” Peter replies, and Sirius seems either satisfied with the non-answer or not interested enough in hearing the truth to press the matter further.

“I think they’re cool,” Remus says, leaving James in the bathroom to fuss with his hair even more. James, the only one still peering into the mirror, has never been more appreciative to have extra space to move around. “Where did you get them?”

Sirius shrugs, suddenly cagey, but James answers, “We went out when I was over at his during the summer and we found them in a shop. I dunno why he doesn’t want to say. Are you embarrassed?” He finishes his statements by turning away from the mirror and stepping out of the bathroom, surveying his friends with an eye critical of party-going.

To the untrained eye, they wouldn’t look that different from how they dress ordinarily. This might be because they don’t exactly have a lot of variety in their wardrobes, as most of it is devoted to their school uniforms, but to James, he thinks they’ve pulled themselves together rather well.

The boots aren’t the only part of their collective ensembles that came from Sirius and James’ foray into the world of Muggle shops over the summer – an adventure that Peter and Remus would no doubt find extremely ordinary and not at all noteworthy – as James has donned a polo shirt that he’d chosen in the shop because it had been a shade of red that would still remind everyone who saw him that he’s a Gryffindor and Sirius had found a dark button-down shirt with a pattern of tiny, well-spaced dots. They look more like pinpricks than polka dots but James doesn’t know how else to describe it. Sirius keeps adjusting the collar as though he thinks it’s going to choke him.

James doubts that’ll happen. He’s left two buttons undone.

Peter, meanwhile, has taken this opportunity to dress far more smartly than James had been expecting, and he stands near the door, adjusting the wide collar of his potentially silk shirt and make sure it’s smoothly tucked into his trousers. James thinks they’d come in a matching set with his jacket, and feels supremely underdressed as he surveys him, but the feeling dissipates when he glances over to Remus, who’s sitting on the floor tying his trainers and looking like the only thing he’s dressed to do is go to the corner shop.

James, apparently, isn't the only one with this train of thought, as Peter looks at Remus reproachfully and says, “You didn’t even dress up, don’t you care at _all_?”

Remus shrugs as he finishes tying his laces, then brushes something off of his jeans and stands. “We’re two ends of the dressing-for-a-party spectrum.”

“Okay, but it’s _Sirius’_ party, you could at least put in a bit of effort.”

Remus turns to Sirius, who’s migrated back into the bathroom to worry at a curl just above his forehead that he doesn’t seem to be pleased with. “Do you care how I dress?”

“What?” Sirius replies absently. “No, you look nice.”

“You didn’t even look!” Peter protests. “And after I put in all this work.”

“What work?” James asks, confused.

“I had this sent overnight by owl post to make sure I got it in time,” Peter replies, sounding slightly hurt. “I was talking about it at breakfast.”

“I heard you,” Remus offers, as if to placate Peter over no one listening to his story, but Peter waves his hand through the air in response.

“Terrible. You’re the one person I know would care the _least_ about this. I just care about looking nice for my friend’s party, showing that I am conscious and respectful of the impression he’s trying to make, but Remus here has decided to look like he sleeps in a ditch.”

“Your words are hurtful, Pete,” Remus says mildly, though he doesn’t sound hurt at all.

Once everyone has stopped making small tweaks to their outfits, they manage to convince themselves that they do need to leave their room eventually, instead of staring at themselves in the mirror for the rest of the night. They traipse down the stairs and through the common room, Sirius shouting something about how he expects everyone to be at the party tonight, several of the students sitting around the common room cheering appreciatively both at the reminder of the party and at the, in James’ opinion, fucking stellar outfits that the boys are sporting as they make it down the stairs. That’s a confidence boost if James has ever experienced one, and they set off through the halls of the school with smiles on their faces and a spring in their steps.

Sure enough, as they enter the Great Hall – having to knock before being allowed inside, because it’s been closed off to anyone who isn't involved in the party-setup process – James is honestly astounded at how quickly it’s been set up to be something actually appealing for a party. Looking up, James can see that the decorators have seemingly decided to expand on the room’s theme of being able to see the sky on the ceiling, and there are hundreds of floating, star-like lights bobbing through the Hall, making it look like the constellations have descended to be easier to touch. There are also some colored lights placed strategically around as well, which make the room have a sort of dreamy quality, like a picture James once saw of outer space.

He thinks it’s wonderful. He wants to live in a room that looks like this.

Sirius blushes a little bit when he sees the star lights, though he doesn’t elaborate on why, he just heads over to a woman who James can only assume is the aforementioned cousin who’s been helping with the organization of the event. They have to weave through tables and around catering workers and house elves until they get to her, James almost knocking over a tray of canapes as they speed past him at about the height of his mid-thigh in the hands of an extremely busy house elf.

When Sirius’ cousin notices them approaching, she turns to them with a brilliant smile that reminds James of the party they’d gone to that summer. Vaguely, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sirius’ other cousin, the one who’s a seventh year, he thinks, helping to set up a table full of finger food.

“Sirius!” she says excitedly, stepping forward swiftly and wrapping him in an embrace. “You’re so tall, I can’t believe it.”

Sirius wriggles out of her grasp, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. “You saw me two months ago.”

“I _know_, but you grow so _fast_,” she says, gazing at him with a fondness that makes James wonder what it would be like to have a big family.

“Does he?” Remus muses and Sirius looks like he wants to throw something at him.

Sirius’ cousin doesn’t reply to Remus directly, she just says, “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“Oh,” Sirius says quickly, as though he’d forgotten that that was a part of conversation that needed to happen. “This is my cousin Andromeda. Andromeda, these are my friends, the rude one is Remus, the well-dressed one is Peter, and the very red one is James.”

“No need to ask what House _you’re_ in, is there,” Andromeda says in an amused tone. “And I’m not just saying that because of your shirt, you’ve been a popular topic of discussion since the end of summer party.”

“I can’t believe James got to go and I didn’t, when I can dress like _this_,” Peter grumbles in faux upset.

“Personally, I would’ve _loved_ to see an outfit like that there, but everyone’s a bit stuffy at those kinds of things,” Andromeda replies breezily. “I don’t think it would’ve been nearly as much fun as you think it would’ve, which is why I skipped it. More important and fun things to do.”

Sirius looks like he wants to ask her something, but he doesn’t, instead exchanging a look with Andromeda that’s meant to convey the question he has. In response, she raises her eyebrows and almost imperceptibly, glances to the cousin who – if James is remembering his brief lesson at the manor about the Black family tree – is her younger sister Narcissa.

Sirius doesn’t press it further.

They wander through the room and get their hands smacked away from the hors d’oeuvres when they try to take them and hover awkwardly as Sirius converses with his cousins about things and people that James doesn’t know until finally the band is set up and one of the caterers peeks out the door and says there’s apparently _a whole bunch of kids out there_ and the clock strikes eight.

“So much for the importance of being fashionably late,” Sirius says, trying to act nonchalant about it but his voice betraying his excitement about all the people who have decided to come to his event. “Shall we?”

They open the doors.


	11. in which nerves, jealousy, and fighting are a recurring theme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at last...... the long awaited party chapter..... there are so many rights in this chapter. so many rights. literally, if you like a character or a ship, they probably have rights in this chapter in one way or another. also this one is a LONG one...... and when i say long, it's literally less than 30 words shy of 7k. thank you for reading. go nuts, my kids.
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Sirius had immediate regrets and misgivings when he’d decided to throw a party for his fourteenth birthday, two days before the event was supposed to take place. He’d been stressed out about it since it had first become a reality, from his Floo sessions with his parents to ask them for money to put this together and with Andromeda to ask her to help him organize it to his meeting with McGonagall to convince her to let him do this.

It had been surprisingly easy to get permission to do things; his parents had spun it to be an event that they were putting on, out of their own expense, for the school. They had installed, at Sirius’ request, a novelty Muggle contraption called a photo booth, in the corner of the Great Hall. They’d magically modified it to make the pictures move and had installed a little sign on it that says _All Proceeds Will Go Towards The Benefit Of Hogwarts School_, neatly followed by a subheading that reads _Five Sickles_.

The promises of both the donation and the popularity of the photo booth, in addition to the fact that the Hogwarts staff would have to do nothing other than attend as chaperones, in accordance to school regulation, was enough to convince McGonagall to allow the party to go forward. She’d asked that he submit a plan for how it was going to be organized and there’d been a short turnaround during which the final approval had been pending from Dumbledore, but that had been a mere two hours. The event had been signed off on and that had been that.

Sirius had made promises for how big it was going to be and how much fun it was going to be and how good of a time everyone in attendance was going to have. However, he’d had expectations that were minimal at _best_.

Two hours after Sirius had said the party was meant to start, however, it’s in full swing. He honestly thinks a solid 85% of the school is there, and that’s a surprise in itself. The band is good, people like the food, he’s gotten a surprising amount of gifts even though he’d said he didn’t want any, the photo booth has a line wrapping around the Great Hall, and everyone seems to be having a good time.

That doesn’t mean he’s not still worried about things going badly.

His friends seem to notice this, because after Sirius’ second loop around the Great Hall in an hour to see if everyone’s still enjoying themselves, Remus catches his arm by the punch bowl.

“What?”

“You need to chill out,” Remus replies. “Look, things are going well, you don’t need to stress out.”

As Remus speaks, he starts getting cups and filling them with punch for the two of them. Sirius glances around for his other friends – he catches a glimpse of Peter and James dancing somewhere and is only sure it’s them because of the brilliance of James’ polo shirt.

“I can’t help it,” Sirius replies, crossing his arms. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Remus shrugs. “Get drunk.”

“Be serious.”

“I thought that was your job.”

“You aren’t allowed to make that joke, it’s my birthday.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s pretty likely that if I tried to make that joke any other time of the year you’d say that I’m only allowed to make it _on_ your birthday.”

“That isn't true. The one time you’re allowed to is _your_ birthday.”

“Details.” Remus takes a sip of his punch, looking at Sirius knowingly. “Here’s the solution: get drunk, go dance, have a great time.”

A small knot of girls passes them where they lean against the table holding the punch bowl, whispering to each other and giggling and disappearing into the crowd as quickly as they’d materialized.

“Talk to a girl,” Remus adds to his previous statement. “There are enough of them here.”

Sirius frowns as his eyes linger on the place where the girls had disappeared into the crowd. For all his talk about how he’s the best looking one out of his group of friends, he’s pretty sure they were looking at Remus, not at him. Remus is tall and smart and funny, and while Sirius has nice cheekbones and is on the Quidditch team, he doesn’t have much else going for him.

That feeling he’s been getting this year in the pit of his stomach that he thinks is jealousy is there again. He ignores it.

“Fine,” he says instead, and Remus seems pleasantly surprised at that turn of events. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Cool,” Remus says, grinning, looking easy and confident and stupidly, stupidly tall, and the envy in Sirius’ stomach clenches.

Sirius isn't exactly certain of the order of the next several events or how quickly they end up happening, all he’s really sure of is that Peter and James appear by their sides within an instant and the four of them are shoving their way to the photo booth, elbowing their way inside with Remus saying something about _it’s his birthday, we’re just gonna jump in really quick_ and James shoving Sickles into the coin slot and Peter somehow unearthing a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey from what looks like inside the bench of the photo booth, though when he’d had time to hide that, Sirius has no idea.

The exchange within the photo booth is businesslike and fast. Peter distributes a hearty splash of firewhiskey into each of their cups of punch – Sirius hadn’t remembered taking it into the photo booth with him, but here it is, in his hand – as well as filling four flasks with a precision that Sirius marvels at. He doesn’t even have time to ask how long they’d been planning this or where they’d gotten the alcohol or the flasks or whose idea it had been. As the photo booth takes the last of the four pictures, the boys finish the last of their “punch” and tuck their flasks into the hopefully most voluminous parts of each of their outfits.

Sirius’ strongest impression is that firewhiskey is awful, and he doesn’t intend to waste a second of his time drinking any of it without the punch mixed into it. The impression that’s right behind his opinion of firewhiskey, finishing in a close second, is the immediate sensation of warmth running down his throat and into his stomach, slowly, slowly, slowly radiating out from his core and into his extremities.

They get more punch and only spike their own cups. James glances at the bowl knowingly, but Sirius shakes his head – he isn't about to be blamed for first years getting drunk. The only person he plans to blame for intoxication and subsequent embarrassment is himself.

Two glasses of what they’ve dubbed _firepunch_ later, Sirius is feeling looser, more relaxed, like he wants to go dance. He voices that opinion to his friends, and Remus makes a face that looks like he wants to say _oh!_ but he’d just popped a tiny cake in his mouth and thus isn't able to actually make a sound.

“Ask someone to dance with you,” Remus says, eyes alight with the excitement of the idea and the alcohol he’d just drank. “It’s your party, ask a girl to dance.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” James says, nodding his head as though to emphasize his agreement. He’s bouncing slightly up and down in time with the music, and he’s hooked his arm through Peter’s in an attempt to get the two of them to move in time. Eventually, they’re in sync, Peter laughing as they bob in a sort of dance-y motion.

“Who would I even ask?” Sirius asks, narrowing his eyes. He doesn’t really _want_ to ask a girl to dance; the song isn't slow enough, he doesn’t like anyone enough, he doesn’t even have any close friends who are girls that he’d want to ask. If he was going to ask _anyone_, he supposes he’d ask one of the girls in their House, but he feels weird thinking about it.

Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it would be better if he had another drink.

A small, more logical part of Sirius’ brain says _this is your first time drinking aside from a small glass of champagne at family parties, slow the fuck down, idiot_, but he’s steadfastly ignoring it and pouring himself another drink as Remus details what he thinks Sirius’ next steps should be, his hand gestures wild and sloppy, just like the grin on his face.

“Didn’t you see those girls earlier?” he asks loudly. Sirius thinks he’s trying to be heard over the music, and it works, but Remus might be shouting a bit too loudly than is necessary. He can’t tell. His heartbeat is pulsing too loudly to hear much, anyway. “They were interested in you.”

“They were interested in _you_,” Sirius replies in a voice that’s a mix of sullen and complimentary. Remus doesn’t seem to notice.

“Are you scared?” Peter asks suddenly, stopping bouncing. He looks at Sirius with eyes that Sirius thinks are seeing directly into his soul.

That isn't possible. Peter’s always been perceptive, but never able to do that. Is Sirius drunk already? Probably.

“Why would he be scared?” James asks, sounding genuinely bewildered. “He’s hot.”

“Aw, thanks, James.”

“It’s the truth.”

James is still bouncing, completely ignorant of Peter’s current lack of motion, as Peter surveys the situation. Finally, Peter says, “Look, if you’re scared, I’ll show you. It’s not anything to be scared of, come on.”

Before Sirius really knows what’s happening – which seems to be something happening a lot tonight – Peter has a hand on his wrist and is pulling him towards the crowd of students dancing. James’ arm is still hooked through Peter’s, so he bounces along good-naturedly with them towards the congregation, and Remus just seems to be interested in what’s happening next, so he’s right on their heels as they reach the center of the floor. The students part for them easily, dancing to some popular song that Sirius can’t name for the life of him, but that’s making his pulse jerk around erratically the way it does when… he can’t put his finger on what that thought was. He thinks it might have been something to do with when he sees someone, but he can’t figure out who his brain was thinking of. There’s certainly no one he looks at who makes his heart move like this song makes his body want to.

Peter is still dragging them through the crowd, and Remus latches a hand onto the collar of Sirius’ shirt to avoid getting separated from the group, though Sirius wouldn’t have thought this was a likely course of action, considering his extreme height advantage and the fact that they wouldn’t exactly be difficult to spot, what with James’ polo and jumping. Finally, they end up at a small knot of students who, after a moment and with some difficulty, Sirius recognizes.

James stops bouncing.

Sirius doesn’t think that was really necessary, everyone’s dancing, but he can recognize from the expression on James’ face that he’s trying to look cool in front of the girls from their year. Peter had pulled them over there with such purpose and speed that none of them had even thought to ask him where they were going – perhaps none of them are cognizant enough to form real words anyway – but the way James has stopped bouncing tells Sirius even before his eyes do that Lily Evans is part of the group.

“Hi,” Peter says quickly, brows slightly furrowed from the concentration of figuring out what he wants to say, “I wanna dance and they’re terrible, would any of you ladies like to dance with me?”

There’s some giggling at that, the physical reactions not unlike the ones Sirius had seen from the girls passing him and Remus earlier, and he gets a strange thrill in his stomach from seeing Peter accomplish this – this confidence. Sirius doesn’t know if it’s the firewhiskey or if Peter’s just more confident tonight because of his outfit or something else inside of him, but Sirius is just so intensely proud of Peter right now.

“Yeah, I will, I’d like that,” Mary says, smiling sunnily at Peter. Sirius must have absolutely no concept of how people work right now, because he could swear they’re absorbed by the crowd in a swirl of glowing lights and fabric and bodies, but he also thinks they might be just out of his line of vision.

There’s a pause, then Remus says swiftly, “That was just a way to start the conversation, we aren’t terrible.”

“I’m not sure you’re making a good case for it, just standing there,” Dorcas says, laughing lightly.

James looks at Lily like he wants to ask her to dance with him, but just as his mouth is opening, the singer of the band says something about _let’s take it down a notch, everyone find a partner_ and Lily experiences the same sort of sweeping disappearance that Peter and Mary had, so Sirius can only assume that she found a partner, from the way James’ eyes follow the movement of where she’s disappeared to.

“Well –” Sirius begins, completely unsure of what he’s going to say, when he’s interrupted by a voice coming somewhere vaguely from the left.

“Hi, Remus,” someone says breathlessly, and Sirius turns to see Conor Vance’s sister, Emmie, standing by Remus’ elbow.

Sirius knows damn well that Remus has no clue who Emmie is, but he looks at her then with an attentiveness and politeness that Sirius wouldn’t have expected from him. Sirius supposes that all Remus is seeing at the moment is that Emmie is a pretty girl and she’s clearly approached him with a purpose, and he can see the next moment in his mind so fucking clearly, she’s going to ask Remus if he wants to dance and Remus is going to say yes and he’s going to look over his shoulder to James and Sirius with a smile that says _look, it’s easy, talking to girls is nothing, I did it, you can do it too_, and Sirius is going to feel his entire body tense up over it. Fuck, the pit of his stomach is doing that thing again just thinking about it.

“Hey,” Remus says smoothly, and Sirius hates how _easy_ it is for him. He misses the rest of the conversation completely, Remus and Emmie swirling out of his line of vision just as the other parts of the group had before them.

He doesn’t remember asking, but he ends up dancing with Dorcas in a simple and comfortable and friendly way that they’d done at the cotillion together, a few summers before, and they talk about nothing and make fun of James and Marlene and how they’ve dramatically grabbed onto each other and begun to perform some sort of exaggerated tango for the rest of the slow song, the students on the dance floor starting to give them a wide berth.

The slow song transitions into a medium song and then three fast songs in a row, so Sirius doesn’t really think about anything for a while. He’s a good dancer, he knows this, and he likes that Dorcas is laughing when he spins her during one of the faster songs, and he can tell that people are watching them whirl around on the dance floor. He has an overwhelming fondness for Dorcas at that moment, and he wonders why they don’t spend more time with the girls.

At the end of one of the fast songs, everyone stops dancing to clap and cheer for the band, who thank the crowd and say that they’re going to take a bit of a break, adding on a loose suggestion for the crowd to _don’t go anywhere_. Despite the short amount of time that Sirius and his friends have actually been on the dance floor, they reconnect with each other at the spot from which they’d drifted apart from their movements and head over to one of the tables away from the dance floor.

They sit, not paying attention to who’s where – Sirius is just aware that he’s got Dorcas on one side and an empty chair on the other, and that Remus is sitting down on the other side of the round table next to Emmie and that his arm is around her shoulders.

Sirius narrows his eyes at that. He doesn’t like it, but he can’t exactly put his finger on why.

A tray heavily laden with food makes an appearance on their table, Sirius realizing a beat too late that it’s a house elf from the catering company that had brought it over. At the same time, Emmie’s expression brightens as she sees someone from across the room and raises her hand in the air, waving them over.

“Conor!” she calls, her voice reminding Sirius of a bird, light and cheerful and just having a good fucking time, and Sirius doesn’t have any rational reason to be irritated by it, but he is, for some reason. He reaches across the table for one of the glasses brought over by the house elves, filling it halfway with punch from a pitcher and adding a generous splash of firewhiskey.

Conor approaches with Valentina Carr, their arms linked together like Peter’s and James’ had been earlier, and they sit down in the empty seats next to Sirius just as he’s scowling from the bite of the firewhiskey, even though it’s been somewhat muted by the punch and the level to which he’s already become intoxicated.

“What’s up, Gryffs?” Conor says, in his standard greeting and tone, raising his eyebrows slightly at Sirius’ expression and the flask sitting on the table and the other ones getting covertly passed around the other side and Marlene taking a quick swig of it and Remus, with his arm slung around Emmie, talking animatedly to Peter about something that’s coming out of his mouth too quickly to easily understand while drunk and not paying attention to the girl he’s with at all.

James’ expression almost sours when he sees Conor, but Sirius glances at him, and it’s like James consciously decides in that moment that he doesn’t want to make waves and that he’s too drunk to muster up some nonexistent and unnecessary hostility for Conor. Instead, he just says, “Sitting and drinking. You want some firepunch?”

Without waiting for Conor’s response, Sirius slides his glass to his right and into Conor’s hand.

“You know, I was going to ask what firepunch is, but I think I can figure it out from context.” Conor’s voice is what Sirius’ drunk brain can only describe as _mellifluous_ – he can’t remember what it means but he wants to write it on his hand so that he can figure it out tomorrow, it just feels like the right choice. Either way, Conor is _far_ too eloquent at the moment, and Sirius doesn’t have the concentration for that.

“Do you want some, Val?” Sirius asks, leaning around Conor to ask her directly.

Val looks at him with a small smile on her face, taking in his rosy cheeks and messy hair and off-kilter collar, and says, “Why not? You seem to like this concoction. Plus, I very much enjoy the fact that you remember my name.”

Peter coughs lightly across the table, clearly making some connection that Sirius hadn’t, in an attempt to disguise a laugh from escaping.

“Why is that something worth noting?” Sirius replies, frowning.

Val shrugs. In a teasing tone, she says, “Nothing, it just seems like something Gryffindors have a problem with.”

“I never forget a name,” James proclaims proudly. “None of yours, at least. You’re very memorable. Conor’s my biggest rival, after all, I could never forget his name.”

“I don’t know where you got that,” Emmie asks, leaning slightly out from where she’d been sitting, almost against Remus’ side. “I mean, yeah, there’s House rivalries, of course, but just because Conor’s _on_ the Ravenclaw team doesn’t mean he’s got a vendetta against you. Why do you have one against him?”

James opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Before he can say anything, however, Lily interjects, “It’s because he’s jealous.”

“I am not _jealous_,” James protests, but Lily just scoffs.

“Oh, come _on_, James, everyone with eyes can see you are.”

“What would I be jealous of?”

“He made the team before you did,” Sirius suggests, speaking more to the table itself than the people sitting around it.

“Ravenclaw beat us last year,” Marlene adds, twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers.

“I think he’s taller than you,” Remus muses, looking between them as if appraising their heights from their sitting positions.

James throws his hands in the air. “Okay, fuck, I didn’t expect for everyone to gang up on me like that.”

“For what it’s worth, James, I think competition is healthy,” Conor says easily after wincing past a swallow of Sirius’ firepunch. “Well, except for when it gets Sirius jumped.”

“Thanks,” Sirius replies, accepting the glass back from Conor and raising it to him in a little toast.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Sirius repeats, wishing furiously that he had something else interesting to say.

The conversation around the table devolves into idle chatter, mostly making fun of people who come to wish Sirius a happy birthday and their outfits, which Sirius thinks might be a bit more mean than is strictly necessary, given that all they came over to do was be nice to him, but the ridicule is whispered for the most part. Sirius isn't even close with most of these people, yet he’s never felt more supremely popular than he does right now. All of these people came here for _him_, and his party is going fucking swimmingly. He feels like he’s on top of the world.

The band has started playing again, and a song that Sirius recognizes from the album of that band Queen that they’d heard in Muggle Studies – Sirius had wanted one of their records so badly and hadn’t been shy about hinting that, he’s still holding out hope that James has one for him hidden somewhere in the dorm and is just waiting for the right moment to present it – and he stands, eyes wide and mouth occupied by a strawberry he’s in the middle of biting, waving his arms to get the rest of his tablemates to move in the same direction as him. As they stand, someone makes their way over to the table, looking bewildered and noticeably greasy.

“Hey,” Severus Snape says, sounding slightly hurt. He heads straight over to Lily. Sirius, who’s been getting attention from countless people and house elves all night and had thrown this party with that exact intent, is offended at the lack of regard Snape pays him.

He clears his throat and goes unnoticed. He bites through his strawberry and spits the top onto the table, his intoxication causing him to have a massive lack of regard for general etiquette. His mother would be appalled, but Sirius will deal with that thought another time.

“Oh, hey!” Lily says, completely smoothing over the fact that Snape seems to have a problem with her being here at the table with her friends and their friends and their friends. “I didn’t see where you got to, we just sat down while the band was taking a break. We’re going back out, do you want to come?”

Snape says snippily, “How generous,” at the exact same moment that James, whose expression had noticeably darkened at Snape’s approach, interrupts loudly, “_God_, I would rather _die_ than see you dance, Snape.”

Sirius becomes very aware in that moment that the last time James had any real interaction with Snape had been last year when they’d gotten into a fight and the subsequent debacle of detentions and punishments that had happened immediately afterwards. He can see the tense set of James’ shoulders, and suddenly he’s very afraid that something is going to happen again, only worse this time, because James has been drinking and there’s enough going on at the party that the two of them fighting may go successfully unnoticed for a fair amount of time before anyone comes to intervene.

He looks directly across the table in a swift cut of his eyes to Remus, who’s removed his arm from Emmie’s shoulders and is starting to stand. Despite how fucking weird half of the shit going on tonight has made Sirius feel, despite how _jealous_ he’s been of everyone tonight, despite how sometimes he’s uncomfortable by the things Remus does and he doesn’t know why, this moment of the two of them looking at each other is enough to make Sirius’ roiling emotions slow down for a moment.

He looks at Peter, who has the same level of understanding, if not more. He’s next to James and has stopped his conversation with Mary to put his hand on James’ sleeve lightly, thumb and forefinger pinching the fabric, and that’s almost enough to make things settle.

“Okay,” Conor says swiftly, smoothly, breaking the silence but not the tension, “let’s settle down, we don’t want to start something. Not at Sirius’ birthday party, come on.”

He says it like that should be obvious, glancing over to Sirius with a warm expression in a motion that’s decidedly more exaggerated than would be normal, as though he’s trying to draw James and Snape’s attention to Sirius in order to invoke some sort of sympathy.

Snape snorts. James narrows his eyes at him. After a beat, James says, slowly, like he’s tensing for something about to happen, “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Everyone around the table is standing at this point, either in response to the previous plan to go back to the dance floor or to Snape’s sudden, unwelcome appearance. Sirius suddenly has a sharp regret for having the party open to everyone at the school.

A teacher floats by, vaguely close but not near enough to hear their conversations or to notice the way James is swaying slightly as he stands and how Remus has come around the other side of the table to be closer to the situation, leaning his forearm on Sirius’ shoulder – which Sirius would be insulted about, judging from how short it makes him feel, if he were sober enough to think about anything other than the tension of the situation. It feels to him like the passing teacher, who he can’t even identify, is moving at a snail’s pace, and their group is just standing, breath held, waiting for the coast to be clear so they can use whichever swear words are the most fitting for a conversation like this.

Snape says in a bitter and nasty tone, “Well –” but before he can even get out a full sentence, James snatches the hefty metal flask that had been sitting in front of him at the table and hurls it, with startling accuracy, at Snape’s face.

It smashes into his large nose, the impact making his head jerk back, and as he stumbles backwards, James leaps forward faster than Sirius had thought he could move and tackles him.

It feels to Sirius as though James’ forward motion and Snape’s subsequent fall take ages, but he thinks that might be due to the way his clearly less functional brain is processing things at the moment. He sees James rocket forward, not surprised that he’s chosen to fight Snape when that happened the last time they had a conversation too; he hears himself shouting _oh, fuck_, hands jerking in shock and jumping up to his head to grip his hair in the shock of the moment; he feels Remus’ arm shift from its position on his shoulder and move from forearm lying flat to hand gripping tightly, fingers pressing so hard that Sirius winces, to using his shoulder as a pushing off point to go forward, towards James.

Conor gets there before Remus does. Peter and Sirius only start moving a beat after the other boys do, the girls following a moment later, but James’ momentum has carried himself and Snape, in a motion that mostly involves stumbling and a bit of sliding on the floor, to a space in between two tables, a bit further away. Remus reaches the scuffle just as Conor is pulling Snape, who’d somehow managed to shove James back just enough to get a sitting position on the ground and has used what looks like a nearby discarded plate made of metal to whack James in the ankle and make him fall, away from James. Snape swipes a wild, angry kick at James while he’s on the ground and clips his lip. James lets out a muffled yell and his hands fly from his ankles to his face.

Sirius runs up just after Remus helps James up, who’s clutching his mouth and fluently swearing at Snape, Peter saying _shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,_ under his breath as he looks around for a teacher. Luckily, everyone seems to be preoccupied by the dance, and it’s loud enough that no one can really hear the fight happening in a corner of the Great Hall. Conor has hauled Snape to his feet unceremoniously but has proceeded to brush off his jumper as though it was dirty in some way other than the stream of blood coming from his nose and leaking onto the collar, which he hasn’t yet bothered to wipe away. Remus’ hand is on James’ shoulder now, a tight fist full of fabric. Conor, in between the two boys, is holding out his hands as though he can stop any future brawling from commencing.

Sirius feels sick. Is it the firepunch or what he’s watching right now? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that things are in slow motion again, and he knows that whatever happens next, he doesn’t think he has the ability to move fast enough to intervene in anything.

Then again, and it might be mean, but he doesn’t want Snape there, even though he’d said everyone could come. He had sort of figured Snape would’ve put it together that because Sirius and his friends do not and have never liked him, he wasn’t welcome, even though it hadn’t technically said that on the posters.

He sort of wants James to punch Snape again. Just because he thinks Snape is an arsehole and Sirius sees him around the castle when he’s not with Lily and he always seems to be with people who give Sirius a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, people who he knows are from prominent families in the pureblood wizarding community, people whose families probably run in the seedier, darker version of the circles his father does.

“What the fuck was that for?” Snape is saying breathlessly, almost spitting. He looks like he wants to throttle James. Sirius thinks James might encourage him to try if Snape voiced that desire.

James pauses, eyes narrowed, to unceremoniously spit blood at the ground, a clear indication of what he thinks of Snape. Sirius is struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. “You’re a _cunt_ and you’re not our friend, why would you think Sirius would want you here?” he replies, voice fuzzy around the edges from the alcohol and the anger. He clenches and opens his fist, glancing at the reddening spots on his knuckles from where he’d punched Snape after tackling him. “He doesn’t.”

“What, can Black not speak for himself?”

“Shut the fuck _up_, Snape,” Sirius says then, sharply, as though he’d been trying to say it for a long time and it had taken a while for the words to trip their way out of his mouth. “Just because the sign said everyone was invited doesn’t mean _you_ were.”

“I invited him, idiot,” Lily says then, in an attempt to settle things a bit, but Sirius ignores her.

“Whatever, I don’t need to be at your shit party anyway, I have better things to do than attend an event meant to fuel the ego of a spoiled blood traitor brat,” Snape hisses.

That doesn’t hurt Sirius at all, being called a blood traitor, but James says, “Don’t talk about him like that,” and punches again.

This time, however, his trajectory is off, whether from his anger or the alcohol or the fact that Snape seems to have enough foresight and, undoubtedly, sobriety, to move out of the way, and James’ fist ends up colliding with the jaw of the person who’s unfortunately between him and Snape.

“Conor!” Emmie shrieks, shoving her way to the front of the group and into the fray in response to her brother’s shout of pain when James’ misguided strike had landed on his face. “James, what the _fuck_?”

James blinks bewilderingly at the scene in front of him, not knowing what to do. Peter’s rushed forward as well, to see if Conor is okay, and Remus has taken it upon himself to do what James had failed to. Snape had darted to the side, closer to the wall, around Conor, which had put him closer to Remus, who takes a step and punches him solidly in the cheekbone area, immediately spinning around afterwards and clutching his hand, shouting swear words about how that motion had hurt him.

Sirius finally starts to move then, grabbing James’ arm and pulling him from the few steps away he’d taken in shock and ignoring the shouting of the girls – even though the little he hears makes him think that Marlene sounds far more excited than shocked about the whole affair than was truly decent. He pulls James over to Conor, saying, “Fuck, are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Conor replies from his seated position on the floor, Emmie examining the part of his face where he’d been hit. “Never better.”

“Shut up,” Emmie says, sounding worried and maybe a little bit like she’s going to cry. “You’re not okay.”

“Alright, Emmie, I got hit, I’ve been hurt worse in Quidditch, it’s okay.” He looks up at James, who’s standing beside Sirius with a hand over his mouth, looking horrified at the results of what’s happened. “It was an accident.”

“I am so sorry,” James says in a hushed tone, sounding just as horrified as he looks.

Conor stands, holding out a hand to shake James’. “No hard feelings. I know what you meant.”

Peter, having straightened up after checking to see that Conor wasn’t bleeding, just most likely going to get a nasty bruise by tomorrow, looks around the room for a second before whipping his head back around to his fellow students. “Slughorn’s coming over here.”

“Shit,” says Remus, who’s been crouching over Snape to make sure he’s alive but not ready to fight James again, eloquently, looking in the same direction that Peter is as if to confirm the accuracy of this statement. “Scatter.”

Conor touches his face faintly then looks at Snape on the floor. He’s awake, he just hasn’t gotten back up. He then looks back to the other boys. “Get out of here, I’ll stay and explain it away.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Peter asks, frowning. “He’s way more beat up than you are.”

Conor shrugs. “I don’t get in trouble and Slughorn likes me. He’ll believe me if I say that Snape fell down the stairs.”

James seems to be having trouble figuring out the situation. After a beat, he asks, “But… why?”

Conor lets out a little laugh, looking off to the side. “I don’t know, maybe because even though you’re determined to make us rivals, I actually think you’re pretty cool and it would be shit if you got in trouble for this. You already have a strike against you for this. Also, it’s Sirius’ birthday, and I think it would be pretty shit if his best friend got thrown out for fighting on a day that’s supposed to be happy.”

There’s a brief pause. Sirius guesses that the only thing Slughorn actually saw was a knot of students and some movement, not who was there or what actually happened. They’ll have enough time to sneak away unnoticed without being caught if they move now.

“Conor, you’re a prince among men,” Sirius says, somewhat dramatically, somewhat messily, and pats him on the shoulder. “We’ll pay you back for this.”

“Let’s go,” Peter urges, waving his arms in a sweeping motion to get his friends to start moving. “Outside.”

“Wait,” Emmie says quickly, as Remus moves past her. He stops, turning to her, eyebrows raised in a question, but instead of saying anything, she stands on her tiptoes and grabs onto his collar lightly and pulls him down a bit and kisses him.

It’s an odd moment. No one was expecting this. Sirius certainly wasn’t. He also wasn’t expecting the twist in his stomach at that exact moment. Jealousy? No, he thinks. Slughorn is still approaching. The nerves he’s experiencing from the tenseness of the moment explain why he can’t look away. Or maybe it’s the shock that’s the reason for it. Either way, Sirius is transfixed and there’s something inside him that just _wants_ but he doesn’t know what it is that his insides are trying to tell him.

Remus breaks it off after just a moment, but the surprise of the event had made it feel like an hour. “I have to go,” he says.

“Okay,” Emmie replies.

There’s a brief moment of no one doing anything as Remus steps away from Emmie, and then they all start moving.

“Thanks, Conor!” Sirius calls over his shoulder as they race out of the Great Hall.

Peter had said _outside_ so that’s where they end up going, swearing and laughing and stumbling until they’re outside on the front lawn. Sirius can only hope that Lily doesn’t end up saying something to blow Conor’s story, but he thinks he’d seen an expression of distaste in the sour way Snape had immediately begun the conversation.

As if he can sense what Sirius is thinking, Remus says, “Do you think we’ll be able to not get caught?”

“I think there’s enough people that it’ll probably go over well,” Peter replies, coming to a halt. They’d made it to the edge of the lake.

James sits down and takes his shoes and socks off to stick his feet in the water. In response to Sirius’ disgusted look – the lake water is generally muddy, and a sort of dark, sickly green on a good day – he shrugs and says, “I’m sweating and my feet hurt, we’ve been standing for hours.”

The other boys follow suit, rolling up the hems of their trousers and kicking water in useless arcs at each other and talking about how tonight has been decent, they think. Remus attempts to stick the hand that had been hurt punching Snape’s face in the water to cool it down, but does it from a standing position and ends up losing his balance completely, stumbling and falling and submerging nearly totally. In all honesty, Sirius is surprised that Remus has been able to stay standing for this long, given how vigorously they’d ended up drinking tonight.

“Where’d you get the firewhiskey?” Sirius asks, sitting on the edge of the lake next to James, watching Peter try and get Remus out of the water. He lets out a loud yell and falls as well, only to surface a moment later shouting _my foot!_

“House elves, mate,” James replies easily. “They didn’t even ask what we wanted it for.”

There’s a pause. Remus is hauling Peter to the edge of the water, the smaller boy’s arm around his shoulders, one foot suspended as though he’d just broken his ankle. Sirius can’t see what’s going on, not from the distance they’ve got between them and the dim light of the moon that’s somewhere between a crescent and halfway full.

He wonders if Remus is aware of what the moon is like at all times. He wonders why he hasn’t thought about Remus and the moon as much this year. He wonders why he’s been so self-centered. He wonders why he’s been noticing so many things about his friends and other people lately but everything Remus is dealing with involving the full moon hasn’t been one of them.

He wonders if Remus is hiding things from them again.

He decides he’s too drunk to wonder things.

“You shouldn’t fight so much,” Sirius says instead, just as Remus sits down beside him, his arm still around Peter’s shoulders, patting his head like he would a baby’s. “I know you care a lot. And sometimes it’s important. But –”

“But what?” James replies, voice soft. Sirius doesn’t think they’ve had a conversation like this in a while. There’s no joking in anyone’s tone or body language or the situation at hand; it’s just four boys and a lake and a moon.

“But we don’t want you to get hurt,” Peter supplies, adding his own words where Sirius’ had failed him.

“Also, sometimes it’s stupid,” Remus says, and if weren’t for his tone, it would sound like a biting commentary, but he turns from watching the dissipating ripples on the lake to look around Sirius at James. “You’re better than a lot of these things.”

James throws a rock in the lake. He doesn’t say anything, but Sirius can tell from the set of his mouth and the lines of his shoulders that he’s actually taken in what they’ve asked him. Then, he nods his head.

“So how long do we have to stay out here?”


	12. in which confrontation is not remus' strong suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone i'm home for thanksgiving in texas rn so i'm sorry this is late! i've been busy doing family things but i do still plan to upload on wednesday!! thank you to everyone still reading and commenting and leaving kudos - i'm really glad everyone liked the last chapter! <3
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

The weeks following Sirius’ now-infamous all-night party are a blur at best. The boys go back inside after the lake, they stay until the party is over, they get in trouble for the noise level after the party had already ended, they get applauded and complimented for how well it went. There’s also a fair bit of insulting and teasing and implying that this was all put on to feed Sirius’ massive ego and that it isn't going to make anyone like him more, that’s not how you make friends.

Sirius, to his credit, hasn’t let the snide comments get to him and has been taking it in stride. If anything, Remus thinks he’s holding himself a little differently, as if he rather likes being noticed by all these people who’d previously paid him minimal attention. Remus doesn’t blame him, it’s nice to be appreciated, but he does marvel a little at Sirius’ ability to have a boost in confidence from people being rude to him just as often as when they praise him.

The praise is warranted, however, as the majority of the school seems to think that the party was largely a success, and all four of the boys have been looped into the attention that comes with that assessment. Remus, who’d awoken the morning after the party with a splitting headache, smelling like algae, had considered the party a success judging from how hazily warm his memories of it make him feel. He isn't even embarrassed about falling in the lake or, no doubt, saying some stupid shit under the influence of the firepunch, though he does slightly regret hitting Snape for James, if only just for the aching of his hand.

The moon comes and goes and rips Remus apart from the inside out but it’s on a Saturday and he can excuse his disappearance by saying he’s just holed up in the dormitories working on assignments because he’s feeling ill and wants to stay in bed. His friends make up stories to explain away his absences and Remus can’t tell if they’re lying to him or being genuine when they tell him that no one suspects a thing.

He has to ask every time. He just doesn’t know if they’re trying to spare him from the worry that he’s sure to spiral into if he finds out people are being skeptical.

That isn't to say that they _are_, just that Remus is afraid they might be.

He doesn’t say anything about that. He’s back in lessons on Monday, like he hadn’t even been gone, listening to James create a running commentary under his breath about how he’s _sure_ Snape is plotting to kill him from where he sits on the other side of the classroom and trying not to think about a host of things that are becoming a bit of a long list.

One of the things that he doesn’t really want to think about is whatever happened at the party with Emmeline Vance.

By _whatever happened_, Remus doesn’t mean that he’s having trouble remembering or that he isn't sure about what happened. He’s sure he knows the events that took place – he knows they danced together, he knows he was awful at conversing with her, he knows he had his arm around her and she seemed to like it, he knows that she kissed him before he had to run outside with his friends to avoid getting caught fighting – but he doesn’t know what they _mean_.

In all honesty, Remus doesn’t know how to proceed from here, or if he even _wants_ to, so on the occasions that he sees Emmie in the halls or across a courtyard or trying to catch his eye from the other side of the classroom, he does his best to let his eyes glaze over so that she doesn’t see any recognition on his face.

“Didn’t you see her waving to you?” James asks, gesturing to Emmie vaguely as she leaves the Great Hall a few steps after Conor and Val, a small frown on her face. “I think she’s been trying to get your attention for a while.”

“Oh,” Remus says. He doesn’t add anything else for a while, because honestly, he can’t think of what to say that isn't awful. “I didn’t notice.”

James looks surprised. “How could you not? She’s being pretty obvious about it.”

“Maybe he’s just avoiding recognizing that he sees her because if he does he’ll have to talk to her about what happened at Sirius’ party,” Peter suggests, lightly, almost like he’s joking.

Remus has to stop himself from wincing at how on the nose it is, but still ends up frowning. Sirius catches sight of his grimace, and scrunches his own eyebrows down in response. “What does _that_ look mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a lie, yes, you do.”

Remus frowns, more deeply than before, and replies, “Okay, look, I don’t know what to say to her. Do I even have to talk to her again?”

His friends take a moment to absorb what he’s saying, then Peter replies, “I mean, technically you don’t have to do _anything_, it isn't like you asked her to be your girlfriend, all you did was dance with her because she asked you to.”

“She also _kissed_ you,” James says, sounding a little in awe still that that had even happened. Remus doesn’t think it was an awe-inspiring situation specifically because of his or Emmie’s involvement necessarily, just the fact that one of them had been kissed for the first time in front of everyone else.

Remus had honestly thought, perhaps somewhat naïvely, that maybe his first kiss would mean something special. He’s slightly disappointed that it didn’t, that he doesn’t really feel anything other than a general sense of benign towards the girl in question, that it wasn’t like something that would be from a movie. Remus isn't exactly a romantic – that’s more Sirius or James’ departments – but part of him had wished it was something more memorable.

That isn't to say that having his first kiss directly after punching Severus Snape in the face and having to immediately make a break for it afterwards in order to not get caught fighting by a teacher isn't _memorable_, but it certainly isn't in the way that he’d thought it would be.

“Yeah, she did,” Remus replies finally, after a moment, realizing that he hadn’t yet. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do_ about it, though.”

“Do you want to kiss her again?” Sirius asks absently, but in a tone that Remus thinks isn't _really_ absent, more that he’s trying to sound nonchalant. He doesn’t know what that tone means, but he decides not to think about it and to instead figure out how to answer the question.

“I might? I don’t know. She’s pretty.” Remus feels like he’s forgotten how to form a sentence. “I don’t think I _like_ her, though, and I think she likes me. She always says hi to me.”

“Oh my god, he _does_ remember who she is!” Peter exclaims, in a campy sort of voice that sounds as though he’s speaking to an audience just out of visibility. “It isn't like she’s been interested in you for _years_ at this point or anything.”

“Maybe it’ll fade.”

“Doubtful,” Sirius says with an almost derisive snort. Remus frowns at that, but again doesn’t comment. “I’m certain that she’s completely enamored by now, how could she lose feelings for Remus Lupin?”

The end of Sirius’ statement sounds natural again, light and teasing and said in that tone that he uses when he wants to make people laugh at how he’s gently poked fun at them, and Remus wonders if he imagined the tone from before. He wonders… he wonders if Sirius is _angry_ at him for kissing Emmie?

No, that doesn’t make sense, Sirius wouldn’t be angry about this. Anger is too strong, too sharp, too venomous of a response for this situation. The tone in Sirius’ voice is more of a quiet, tense, knotted thrumming of an emotion.

It hits Remus so quickly then that he doesn’t know how he missed it before; he should’ve known from the clipped syllables and the calculated bits of just enough indifference and the way Sirius is cutting his eyes to the side.

He’s jealous.

Jealous of _what_ exactly, Remus isn't sure, but he’s certain of it as soon as the possibility of that crosses his mind. Remus thinks he has a bit of an inkling of what the root of that jealousy might be – the attention that Remus had gotten from a girl, most likely – but he wants nothing to do with the entire situation.

This isn't because of anything Sirius has done. Remus, in all honesty, isn't surprised that one of his friends is reacting like this. He’d probably act the same way if it was his birthday and one of his best friends had, on paper, had a better time than him. The only thing Remus is really surprised about is that it isn't James.

Sirius being jealous of the whole thing isn't the problem that Remus has with it, however. The biggest problem, the one that’s staring him in the face with every corner he turns, is avoiding actually speaking to Emmie about anything that happened. Or anything at all, to be honest.

It becomes officially impossible to continue pretending like the problem doesn’t exist when lessons have finished on a Thursday and Peter’s injured foot – which had gotten a nasty cut when he’d fallen in the lake and because of some sort of algae in the lake that was resisting magical treatment was insisting on being healed through Muggle means – is slowing them down on their way back to the common room.

“Shit,” Remus says suddenly. Peter’s stopped to sit down for a second – apparently his bandages are wrinkled or wrapped oddly and when he swings forward on his crutches it makes the wound on his foot hurt.

“I know, I think it’s bleeding again, this is such a _bitch_,” Peter replies, about a completely different subject, wincing as he taps the bottom of his foot lightly with the pad of his finger. Sirius and James are next to him, James peering at where the cut would be if not hidden by bandages and a sock – which Peter has yet to remove – in interest and Sirius pointedly looking away as though if he were to so much as glance at Peter’s still-covered foot, he would catch a glimpse of battlefield-level injuries.

“No, not that,” Remus replies distractedly, using his advantage of height to see what feels to him like the equivalent of an incoming missile. He wants to run.

James looks up, sees the direction and subject that Remus’ attention is turned towards, and laughs. “Oh! Sorry, mate, I don’t think you can avoid it anymore.”

Unfortunately for Remus and his level of comfort, which absolutely does not accommodate for having confrontations with girls who are at least five inches shorter than him approaching him in the very public halls of Hogwarts to no doubt shout at him about the lack of attention he’s paid them over the past week and a bit, Emmeline Vance is making her way over to their group, a decidedly neutral expression on her face, which scares Remus more than anger would, and he’s trapped by Peter’s stupid foot and the fact that if he were to run it would be embarrassing and too obviously convey how he feels and his friends would never let him live it down.

“Hi, Emmie,” James says buoyantly as she approaches, surveying her arrival with undisguised amusement about the entire situation. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m just _excellent_, James, how are you?” Emmie replies, and there’s a bite in her voice that makes Remus physically force himself not to react.

“Great,” James replies, grinning. He looks between her and Remus, then pats Remus on the shoulder and moves over as much as he can without leaving the vicinity, as Peter’s still bound to the bench he’s decided to sit on until he adjusts his whole foot situation and Sirius is reluctantly helping him.

Remus gives him a look that is meant to say something along the lines of _help_. James responds with a shrug and a scrunch of his nose that replies _good luck_.

There’s a beat of silence. Remus becomes aware that his friends are having a rapid discussion between themselves that’s about less than nothing and has the sole purpose of being loud enough to sound like they aren’t listening in on what Emmie came over here to say.

She doesn’t say anything, though, not right away. Her arms are crossed and she’s fucking _tiny_ but Remus has never felt more intimidated by such a small person. Well, that’s not strictly true. Sometimes Peter can be intense when it comes to the things he’s passionate about, and when his second cousin on his mum’s side of the family was a baby he had to hold her and it was weird and scary all around. But never since coming to Hogwarts has Remus been this apprehensive when dealing with someone so much shorter than him.

“So,” he says, finally, to break the silence.

“Is that it?” she asks flatly. “_So_?”

Remus can feel his eyes widening, but he doesn’t know what to say or how to go about making this conversation less fucking awful. “How… are you?”

Emmie rolls her eyes then, sighing audibly and sort of bouncing in a way that’s more of a deflation of frustration than anything else. “Look, Remus,” she begins, “you don’t have to pretend like you don’t know me, okay? I’m not stupid, I know that you’ve been avoiding me.”

“No,” he begins, in some sort of lame attempt to cover his tracks, even though he knows there’s no way he can possibly come back from this.

“Okay, listen,” Emmie interrupts, raising a hand, “please don’t insult me by trying to convince me that that isn't what you were doing, we both know it was.”

Remus doesn’t know what to say. He opens his mouth and closes it again. James sneezes behind him, once, loudly, violently, then immediately whispers, “Sorry!”

“Remus, if you didn’t want us to see each other again you could’ve just told me,” Emmie says then, simply.

She doesn’t seem upset. In fact, this is a lot better than Remus was expecting this conversation to go. It isn't like they were _together_ or anything, he was just expecting something dramatic and loud and tearful from a young teen girl dealing with the fact that a boy doesn’t like them back.

He thinks he doesn’t like her back, at least. The only thing he can really solidly land on is that she’s pretty, but he doesn’t think he’d want to do anything… soft.

Either way, he hadn’t immediately felt anything for her the way he had sort of expected to, after his first kiss, and she hadn’t reacted to his indifference in the way that he had expected _her_ to. Remus supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised, given the newness of the territory.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he manages, his voice coming out surprisingly smoothly given the hitch he feels in his diaphragm from having to deal with a situation like this. “I should have said something.”

“Okay,” Emmie says, and Remus almost doesn’t _like_ that she’s so casual about it. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

Emmie bids each of the boys farewell in turn and leaves, heading off down the hall to where Remus, with his advantage of height, can see Conor and Val waiting for her to finish her conversation.

He almost feels badly for not remembering her name before now.


	13. in which there's no place like home for the holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! thank you for your patience during my brief time off! i was home for thanksgiving so i wasn't really writing during that time, so i had to take some extra time to catch up this week so i'd actually have something to post today. also, i was having a bit of a writer's block, which was irritating - toaw as a whole has been a bit harder for me to write as it's not as clearly defined in terms of storyline/big plot events happening, so it's been a lot of mundane activities that i've been trying to make interesting enough to write about. anyway, i finally managed to get out an entire chapter! i know it's late, but better late than never! hopefully i'll be able to maintain my twice a week posting schedule, but since i'm a little behind, i might go back down to just sundays for a bit in order to gain a bit of a cushion again. in any case, there will definitely be a posting at least once a week!
> 
> please feel free to reach out, and thank you so much for the comments and kudos! everything on here is super encouraging and makes me want to write more. i love you all!
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

As the holidays approach, Peter has a sense of apprehension that he normally only gets around exams, and for the life of him, he can’t place where it’s coming from. He doesn’t know why he’s getting this sort of feeling, but what he does know is that if he doesn’t figure out the root of the problem, he’s going to be thinking about nothing else all throughout their winter holidays.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe it has to do with everything changing recently. There’s nothing that’s really _noticeably_ different about this year, but there’s also something about the past few months that make Peter feel a bit uneasy, a bit slow, a bit like he’s behind when everything else is shooting past him and moving ahead.

Who knows, that might be something having to do with the various and noticeably taller heights of his friends, but Peter doesn’t think that his stress is quite so literal.

Then again, there’s always the possibility that his anxieties have to do with the different situational stressors in all of their collective lives; James never stops talking about Quidditch, Sirius is refusing to be vocal about but is still notably worried about his familial politics, Remus becomes quieter and tenser and sharper as the moon approaches each month, and all Peter can do is _watch_. He feels helpless a lot of the time, and he doesn’t know if it has to do with his own personality or how his parents raised him, but he doesn’t like just sitting and being a listener while his friends are dealing with shit of their own.

He wishes he could just reach into their lives and pull out their problems. He wants to dump them into the sea or, if that fails, find a way to take them on for himself.

That isn't possible, however. Not really. Not in the way he wants to. He can’t exactly heal Remus’ lycanthropy or stop Sirius’ family from being involved in social circles and activities of possibly sinister intent. All he can really do is be there.

Peter hates _just_ being there.

He’s almost glad that their workloads are so much more intense this year than they’ve been in their previous two years at Hogwarts; at the very least, they’re distracting him from worrying too much about his friends.

To be honest, when Peter had chosen Divination and Care of Magical Creatures for his new subjects this year, he’d chosen one of them – and it wasn’t really difficult to guess which one – because it was known to be a subject that it was easy to bullshit your way through if you didn’t possess the powers of the Inner Eye. However, since Peter’s first Divination class, Professor Carmen Shafiq had expected the best from her students in a way that, oddly, reminds Peter of Professor McGonagall, despite their vastly different fields.

Professor Shafiq has an extremely good sense of when a student is purely making things up to complete their work and turn it in, and she’d rather they say that they spend three hours meditating or staring at tea leaves or attempting to divine meaning from the stars, only to come up with nothing, than hand in a badly composed story of a clearly false dream.

Most unfortunately, Peter had learned that the hard way, not from his own experience, but from when James had made that same mistake during their second week of lessons.

Perhaps this is another reason why he’s feeling that sense of displacement and apprehension: it’s their first year not being in all the same lessons together. It’s strange to see Remus and Sirius head off to Arithmancy some days while Peter and James go to Divination. Peter at least has _James_ in the North Tower with him for Divination, but when he goes to Care of Magical Creatures, James and Sirius are in Muggle Studies and Remus is in Ancient Runes and it isn't like Peter has a hard time making friends or socializing with the other students in the class, but it’s _weird_ at this point to not be with at least one of his three best friends.

He thinks he might be getting more used to it as the year goes on, as the days wheel by, closer and closer to when they’ll all separate for the holidays. Peter isn't sure that getting used to not being with all of his friends is something that he _wants_, but it’s something that seems to be inevitable.

He wonders if this is what growing up is like. He doesn’t think he wanted it to happen so quickly.

Despite Peter’s anxieties about losing connections with his friends, daily events seem to be indicating that these fears are solely living in Peter’s head. Nothing has changed between him and his friends, nothing has moved in a way that would tell him that something was going to happen that would make the little safety net that he’s grown to, honestly, rely on during his time at school disappear, nothing has really shifted at all.

And yet.

Before Peter knows it, it’s time for everyone at school to pack their bags and head home for the holidays. There was a brief discussion about staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, but it was more conveyed in a joking manner via Sirius than anything else, more of a suggestion in an attempt for him to avoid having to go to the Black family Christmas gala than a genuine plea for his friends to stay with him.

“I don’t get it, do you not want to see your parents or something?” James had asked, lying on his bed while the others packed, throwing a pair of socks that had been tucked inside of each other to form a ball up in the air and catching it. James, always the serial procrastinator, had shrugged off any organized packing and had said something about throwing everything in his bag on the morning they’re meant to leave.

“No, it isn’t that,” Sirius had replies, frowning as he’d emerged from digging around underneath his bed, a tie in hand. “It’s that I don’t want to do the big family thing. I just – answering questions from people is horrible and I’m tired of being paraded around, you know?”

“No,” Peter had said, shaking his head incredulously at Sirius expecting any of them to be able to relate to what he was talking about. “You forget that the rest of us are not just only siblings, but we also come from tiny families.”

“Besides, I didn’t think you’d ever get tired of being the golden boy,” Remus had added. Sirius had chucked the tie at him from across the room. It had unraveled midair and fallen onto the rug in a sad little squiggle of fabric, and Sirius had had to collect it from its position of shame.

“I’m not the golden boy, that’s James.”

“I’m the _only_ boy,” James had replied, flipping over to his stomach.

“What are the rest of us?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, Pete, gnomes?”

He’s immediately bombarded by a barrage of insults and small articles of clothing following his insult of his best friends, and the room descends into a far bigger and more explosive mess than it had already been during the midst of the packing effort.

However, despite the amount of time it takes for the boys to gather their things and actually manage to prepare for their departures – with James running around like a complete lunatic the morning that they’re meant to leave, Sirius shouting at him about how he’s going to make them all late and then they’ll have to Floo home like idiots – they make it to the train station in Hogsmeade in plenty of time and manage to snag a compartment with relatively little issue. They’re later joined by Marlene, who lies on the floor for half an hour of their train journey, claiming that she didn’t want to be in the same compartment as Snape, who’d been invited in by Lily, and that she’d been the only one who’d had the courage to leave.

“And they call themselves Gryffindors,” James replies in complete sincerity, shaking his head.

“I know, they should be ashamed of themselves,” Remus says, with not nearly the same level of sincerity, but James doesn’t seem to notice.

The good thing about traveling places or being in lessons or choosing to be consciously _engaged_ in things is that it keeps Peter from thinking too much about the things that have been worrying him. His anxieties about his friends remain at the back of his mind for the entirety of their journey south, for the most part, only inching forward every so often to dance around the front of his mind for a moment or two at a time. Before he even really realizes it, before it seems like enough time has passed, Peter thinks, they’re rolling to a somewhat gentle halt at Platform 9 ¾, Peter’s friends leaping to their feet and heading out of the train.

“I expect at least one letter from each of you,” James is saying as he hops down from the train directly to the platform, avoiding the steps entirely, “and it had better be a lengthy one. Christmas in Godric’s Hollow is never as interesting as the ones you lot seem to have, and I’ll need some entertainment to keep me from going mad.”

“It’s just a few weeks, James, I think you’ll be okay.”

“Just because you _think_ that, Pete, doesn’t mean it’s _true_. You know what a short attention span I have.”

Sirius, walking backwards towards the gathered crowds of families, bag slung over his shoulder, having hopped down from the train in a fashion similar to James a few moments afterwards, says, “Spend your entire holiday dreaming up some tactics for our match against Hufflepuff on our first weekend back. See if you can impress M.G.”

James sighs in exasperation. “That’s going to be _useless_ unless I can run them before I show them to her!”

“Doesn’t your cousin play?”

“Yeah, but he’s eight!”

“Great, it’ll be just like playing against Hufflepuff,” Remus replies, earning himself a glare from several passing students. “You’ll have a fantastic time.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“Isn’t that a change?” Remus replies, wearing a wry smile. His gaze becomes distracted, and then he continues, “I see my parents. I’ll see you next year, have a happy Christmas.”

Hugs are passed around as they come to a consensus to split up then, James noticing his own parents waving to him frantically. Peter thinks he notices Sirius looking like he wants to say something, but he remains silent after his own goodbyes, a small furrow on his brow.

“Hey, if it gets too bad at yours, too many people or too weird of a time, you can always come to spend the rest of the holiday at mine,” Peter says as he sees Sirius looking over to his parents. “My mums are waving me over, I have to go.”

“Okay, Pete,” Sirius replies, seeming a little distracted. He hugs Peter one more time before speeding off in the direction of his own parents.

Something feels off again, but Peter shakes it off and heads over to his parents to go home. Whatever it is, he’ll figure it out after the holidays.


	14. in which begins the fall of the ancient and most noble house of black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. so it's been a month, just about. i'm really sorry for that. i have some good reasons. first of all, i've had MAD writer's block. second, i've had a lot of things going on emotionally and haven't really been in a good space for writing anything. third, i had to spend my first holiday season without my parents and it was really rough so i wanted to just feel sorry for myself and not write anything at all. 
> 
> in any case, i'm back!!!!! i'm trying to be consistent again. i'm sorry it's taken so long. if it makes it any better, this chapter is 4.6k!!!!!! lots of content for our lovers of the ancient and most noble house of black. this is the sort of thing that i really enjoy writing so it really helped in getting me back into the swing of things. 
> 
> also i just want to say i really appreciate the people who have commented asking if i'm okay and if i am going to continue this. i am, i just needed some time off. i hope you are all still interested in this story. i love you all. thank you for sticking with it. as always, anything you tell me, any feedback, anything at all, is so appreciated. thank you <3
> 
> i also changed my twitter @, so here's the new social media info:  
twitter - Iadyvin  
tumblr - siriusorioff  
instagram - emmakmarie

Now that he’s on his third year of coming home for the Christmas holidays, Sirius has come to expect that there’s absolutely nothing relaxing about entering 12 Grimmauld Place for the several weeks that he’ll spend away from Hogwarts. Despite what his friends are sure to think, this isn’t anything to do with his father’s position in the political environment of the wizarding world or the influential and deeply questionable people that will be entering one of the Black family residences on Christmas Eve for their annual gala – no, the entire basis of the tension roiling in the house surrounding the December holidays is from the sheer _expectations_ that come from the rest of the wizarding pureblood community, that his mother decides to bend to for some reason.

Sirius has never felt that his parents have been even slightly subservient to anyone. They’ve always had an air of being able to glide through any room they enter and answer to no one; he isn’t certain if this is just solely due to how they carry themselves or if it’s something to do with generations of purposeful etiquette training and strict posture monitoring, but all Sirius knows for certain is that it’s nearly impossible to command or to even request that Orion and Walburga Black do anything that they don’t explicitly choose to.

This is why he finds it so contradictory when their lives become a whirlwind of activity in the days leading up to Christmas. He warns Regulus about this before they even leave the train; he’d caught his brother’s arm as they’re heading out of the car and onto the platform and murmured, “I don’t know if you remember what it was like last year, but Mum probably has a full schedule for us starting tonight.”

Regulus had looked up at him with a bit of a bemused expression, scrunching his eyebrows down in confusion. “What does _that _mean?”

“It means that she didn’t say anything, but I can almost guarantee that the photographer will be waiting for us when we get back to the house.”

Regulus had sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I can’t believe you even have to ask that,” James had quipped, moving past the brothers on his way out of the compartment and subsequently off the train, tugging gently at a loose curl of Sirius’ as he passes them. “You of all people should know the answer to that.”

“Shut up, James,” Sirius had said in unison with Peter, who’d been following directly behind James and had punctuated his statement with a little shove between James’ shoulder blades.

Remus, at the end of their little procession out of the train, had paused for a moment as he’d followed the same path as the other two. “You coming?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sirius had replied, and that had been that. He and Regulus had been swept out of the train by a crowd of impatient students, said their goodbyes to their friends and had sped over to their parents, the urgency burning in their stomachs propelling them forward solely from the anticipation of the ensuing events and the surety that their mother would be concealing her impatience to get back to the house and get things moving.

Sure enough, hugs (from their mother) and handshakes (from their father) are passed around once the boys reach their parents, and within ten minutes they’re back in their house, their mother telling them, in the sing-song voice that she uses when she’s trying to disguise her stress about a time-constrained event, to run upstairs and get dressed in _the nice outfits I’ve laid out on your beds, and Sirius, please do something about your hair, we don’t want anyone thinking we don’t take care of you, do we?_

Sirius doesn’t bother to do anything about his hair – the fact of the matter is that it’s going to be curly and unruly no matter what, and any attempt he makes with it will be adjusted by his mother before their picture is taken anyway. He puts on the suit that she’d chosen for him, frowning at himself in the mirror and feeling like there’s a pit in his stomach because of how much he thinks he might look like his father.

The thing about getting family pictures taken by a wizarding photographer is that the camera somehow manages to capture the spirit of the minute before and the minute after the shutter is pressed, so if you’re intending for the picture to be nice and formal and presentable, like Sirius’ parents no doubt are wanting, everyone has to remain smiling and polite looking and just generally unnatural for a full two minutes. Sirius thinks that this shit is ridiculous – he’d rather just take Muggle pictures than have to deal with this, he’s learned about them extensively from both his Muggle Studies class and Peter’s obsession with the one that Remus had given him last year, and he thinks that he’d much prefer to pose for five seconds and be finished with the whole ordeal than to have to stand and act like he doesn’t have an itch on his nose and hate everything about his appearance for two full minutes like they’re having their photos taken in approximately the year 1853.

He tries not to complain. Not even when his mother adjusts his hair and fusses over his tie and makes him stand in an awkward position with one arm resting on the wing of his father’s armchair like he’s preparing to inherit the throne – an implication that makes Sirius vastly uncomfortable, but one that he supposes is appropriate nonetheless.

The photographer, despite his supposed professionalism and the fact that they’ve had their pictures taken by him for several years at this point, neglects to tell them when the timer has started for the camera capturing their general attitudes in the pre-shutter time. Most unfortunately, no one seems to notice, and the photographer departs shortly after the singular picture is taken.

Sirius receives a note back in response to the family Christmas card after it’s sent out within the next few days. He hadn’t known that his parents had included the families of his best friends on their mailing list for this year’s annual photo accompanied by a letter boasting in great detail about how wonderfully everyone in their _entire family_ is doing, but there’s a note from Remus sitting on his desk.

_Nice suit,_ it says, and Sirius feels something like a twist of embarrassment in his stomach at how he’s sure Remus’ tone would sound if he were to say this directly to his face. _How many of those do you have sitting in your wardrobe? You’d think you were about to attend a ball or something._

Sirius writes back. _You know my parents, there’s a high chance that at any point we _are_ about to attend a ball, I don’t know why you sound so surprised. And in answer to your question about the number of suits I currently have in my wardrobe – I want to guess that there’s seven._

Remus’ reply is short and arrives the next morning, along with notes from James and Peter. It reads, _I’m only slightly surprised that the number is a. so high, and b. not a definite answer. I don’t know what else I expected._

James, on the other hand, had written a lengthy tome. Sirius reads it over breakfast while his mother laments her own correspondence and the comments she’s received over their Christmas photo, the barbs disguised with honeyed words.

Sirius really doesn’t think it’s that bad. The motion of the photo is limited; if you spend enough time looking at any wizarding picture, particularly the ones that are taken on smaller, less magically complicated cameras, the figures within start to repeat their motions. It’s sort of like a small movie. Because of this process and because of the lack of provided time warning by the photographer, however, the general attitude captured by the photo that had been sent out to practically all of their friends, family, acquaintances and colleagues in the wizarding community had captured the Black family in a natural, yet unacceptable, by Walburga’s standards, state.

Orion, as usual, had looked slightly bored, sitting in his armchair. The photo depicts him sighing and looking off to the side every so often, occasionally pulling his pocket watch out and checking the time before tucking it back into his waistcoat and indicating his general air of tedium. Sirius, on his left, an elbow resting on the wing of the armchair, looks even more bored than his father, fidgeting a lot and twisting his curls around his fingers, leaning away when his mother tries to reach over and adjust his tie, drumming a pattern with the pads of his fingers on the chair and trying to catch his brother’s eye and make faces at him when he thinks his parents aren’t looking. Regulus, to his credit, seems to be trying his best to actually pose, and looking at the picture now, Sirius thinks he may be the only one out of the entire family who had been aware of the fact that the timer seemed to have been started. He might be the only presentable one out of all of them, according to their mother’s standards. Walburga herself had been graceful and put together, as usual, but her casual elegance is detracted from slightly as her photo image of herself is mostly focused on getting her family to look at the camera.

Sirius honestly thinks it’s a nice picture. He thinks they should frame it and put it above the mantel. His mother, meanwhile, has not stopped complaining about it since the family sat down to breakfast, and Sirius doubts that she will for the next year.

He’s interrupted several times in reading his letters from James and Peter – the latter of which is mostly about the absolute havoc happening on the farm right now, which Sirius would much prefer to be experiencing than the impending Christmas Eve gala and the traditional Black family dinner the night before – by his parents’ insistence that they go over the coming plans for the week. Sirius has a fitting for a new suit, apparently he’s grown since last year and also, he can’t be seen in the same one as before, what will people _say_? They have to make an appearance at St. Mungo’s on the 22nd, apparently now that Sirius is old enough to be involved in family business proceedings it’ll be good for people to start associating him with their various philanthropic efforts. He has to attend a business luncheon with his father and several of his associates – a concept that makes Sirius want to tear his fucking eyes out – in order to start _making connections_, as Orion puts it, then back to Grimmauld Place to get dressed and head to the manor house for the family only dinner, hosted this year by Cygnus’ family.

The next night is the gala, but Sirius thinks that’ll probably be the least stressful event of the next few days, judging from the agenda being laid out before him.

By the time the holidays are over, Sirius will come to realize that _least stressful_ as a way to describe the gala was a massive fucking understatement, but at the moment, his worries about fucking up the list of events that he’s expected to be pristine at are taking up any indications that there might be a bit of a storm brewing. This explains, in a nutshell, why Sirius is so completely unprepared for the goddamn shitstorm of a family dinner at the manor house on the night before the gala.

If he’d paid a bit more attention to the members of his extended family – namely, his three cousins – Sirius might be expecting something like this. Bellatrix has always been an advocate for following the family traditions and maintaining the blood purity, almost to a weird extent, and Narcissa has always given off the impression of only having the desire to be a good daughter and eventually make a match that would make her parents proud. Why it’s as though they live in the 1800s, Sirius doesn’t fully understand, but this is the way it’s always been, and he can’t foresee a lot of change anytime soon. However, despite noticing a bit of deviance in Andromeda before now, Sirius has never thought it was to this extent. At least, not until she drops a fucking bomb during the second course.

So far, Sirius had thought that everything had been going surprisingly well. He’d been hoping for another few weeks of smooth sailing, like it had been last Christmas, and he’d been rewarded by an easy trip to St. Mungo’s where he’d only been expected to look put together and listen to stories and look sad or make small talk or act like he wasn’t posing for a photo when one was clearly being taken. The luncheon with his father’s business partners had gone well too, just a lot of talk that Sirius hadn’t understood, but that had been mostly due to his lack of knowledge about the value of gold and property investments and the stock market, not for any secrecy on Orion’s part. His father had clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed it as they’d left the luncheon, a small smile on his usually stoic face.

“You did well,” he’d said, his tone nonchalant, and Sirius, despite the misgivings still lodged in his brain about the mounting evidence over the past few years that his father might not be the best person in the world, had felt his heart leap a little bit.

They’d gone back to Grimmauld place and gotten ready and headed out to the manor house at a leisurely pace; there was no need to stress about making it by a certain time or of what people were going to think if they arrived in a certain manner. This, Sirius had learned, was about as casual as a gathering of the entire Black family could be, despite the fact that they were all wearing formal attire. That, and his mother always operated under the (very accurate) assumption that an event at her own home would not properly begin until she arrived, and thus, they could arrive to the manor house three hours after dinner had been originally set and the rest of the family would still be waiting for them.

Sirius doesn’t know if he respects or is intimidated by this habit of his mother’s, but he still marvels at the sense of self and strength of character it takes to do something like that.

In any case, the family had arrived at the manor house without much fuss and the night had proceeded very smoothly, almost too smoothly, Sirius had thought suspiciously, seated at the large table between his uncle Alphard and his cousin Narcissa. Alphard had been making snide comments under his breath or loud, purposely volatile ones during inappropriate points of the conversation specifically to make his nieces and nephews laugh and to make his siblings roll their eyes at his tomfoolery, and Narcissa had been fairly silent, seeming preoccupied with something that she wouldn’t share, despite Sirius’ asking and his growing curiosity.

That interest is satisfied when, during the second course, as Sirius is poking delicately at an oyster with interest, Andromeda breaks a lull in the conversation with, “I have an announcement.”

Narcissa’s head snaps up at that, which prompts Sirius, oyster halfway in his mouth, to get his shit together and pay attention.

“Oh?” his aunt Druella says in interest, picking up her wineglass to take a sip. The attention of every adult at the table is on Andromeda, who’s breaking tradition by bringing up a subject that hasn’t explicitly been handed to her. Even Bellatrix’s husband, Rodolphus, who has been staring off into space for the majority of the evening, only joining the conversation when he’s hissed at by his wife, is paying attention to this. “Did you hear back from that program you wanted to do? Something about… I don’t know, you wanted to do something involving philanthropy?”

Andromeda blinks, then says, “Yes, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.”

There’s a firmness to her voice. Sirius kicks Regulus, who’s decidedly not paying attention, under the table, and his younger brother glares at him before refocusing after being on the receiving end of a pointed look.

She takes a deep breath, like she’s about to say something that’s going to cause a riot. Sirius could swear he could hear a pin drop, he doesn’t even think anyone is breathing.

Finally, Andromeda rushes out, “I’m getting married.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, as Sirius has noticed happens in every situation where someone says something unexpected that elicits a vehement response, everyone speaks at once.

“Congratulations,” Alphard says next to Sirius, while Druella shrieks incoherently, Walburga demands, “To _whom_?” and Bellatrix, wide-eyed, shouts at her sister from across the table, “Is it because you got knocked up? I _told_ you to be _safe_!”

“Is it because she _what_?” Cygnus asks thunderously, finally speaking up, and the table devolves into a cacophony of screaming arguments.

This continues for a few minutes. About half of the guests at the table are still quiet, the list comprised of Sirius, Regulus, Narcissa, Orion and Alphard. However, the volume of the shouting half is enough to make up for the silence of their other family members, and Sirius uses this opportunity – before he and everyone else either underage or uninvolved directly are sent out of the room so that a discussion with the pretense of privacy (but which will inevitably still involve shouting) can be had by those immediately affected – to figure out what the fuck happened.

From what he can gather, Andromeda has been dating someone who her parents wouldn’t approve of. Definitely someone not on the list of suitors who they’ve been trying to get her matched up with. It’s been a secret, it’s been serious, it’s been enough that they’re going to get married. However, they’re mostly getting married now because she’s pregnant. As if whoever she’s marrying isn’t a scandal enough in itself, this fight seems to imply.

Sirius glances over at his father, who’s sitting silently with his eyes closed, leaning his elbow on the table and pinching the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Finally, as though he’s decided he can’t take it anymore, Orion Black slams the hand previously cradling his head down on the table with a sharp _crack_, an even sharper, “_Enough!_” coming out of his mouth.

Everyone turns to look at him.

Here’s the thing about Sirius’ father. He’s a very formal, closed-off man. He doesn’t hug his children, it’s a rare sight to see him kiss his wife, Sirius can count the times that he’s seen him smile openly and widely on one hand. He also never, never, never, never, _never_ shouts.

That single word, snapping its way out of his mouth like the crack of a whip, was enough to make everyone stop fighting and pay attention.

Orion continues, “This is not the way we behave.” He pauses until the shouters, who have been standing and seemingly on the verge of throwing things, take their seats again. “This is also not an appropriate conversation for everyone.”

“Who _is_ it an appropriate conversation for?” Walburga demands, looking like she might cry, but not because she’s sad. Sirius has never cried because of anger, but he thinks that his mother is about to. “This is a family discussion.”

Orion pauses, looking like he’s having a conversation with his wife that only involves their eyes. Walburga loosens just slightly, then says, “Sirius.”

Sirius, knowing what’s coming but wanting to dig in his heels a little, replies, “Mum.”

“You and Regulus get out of here. Narcissa, too. Alphard, will you go with them to make certain that there isn’t any listening at keyholes?”

“Why not,” Alphard replies easily, standing before his nephews or his niece have a chance to complain about being kicked out. “Come on, troublemakers, we can have dinner sent upstairs. I’ll teach you sleight of hand while we wait for everyone else.”

Sirius almost complains, loudly; Regulus actually makes an _aw_ sound of displeasure at their removal from the room, but their uncle steers them out with a firmness that makes it impossible to escape. Sirius resents this – he’s not four, he can walk by himself.

He makes his opinion known when they make it out into the hallway. Narcissa had followed closely behind, looking worried. The doors to the dining room shut before anyone had begins speaking again inside, but as soon as they click closed, Sirius whirls on his uncle.

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“Did what?” Alphard replies, somewhat absently, digging around in the pockets of his jacket.

“You took us out! You’re supposed to be on our side.”

“Yeah,” Regulus says in a sort of echoing tone, crossing his arms. That sound of assent basically does nothing to aid Sirius’ argument, but he appreciates the support nonetheless.

“I _am_ on your side,” Alphard says, frowning. “Did you not notice how we haven’t moved away from the doors?”

Alphard is right. They’re still standing in the same position as they had been when the doors had shut, Sirius and Regulus still perpendicular to the entrance and Narcissa leaning against the opposite wall, fidgeting with the ends of her hair and bouncing her leg in stress, only now Alphard has unearthed what looks like a miniature hearing trumpet from somewhere inside his coat and has affixed it to the keyhole in the door.

“Oh, please, Uncle, don’t do it,” Narcissa says suddenly, pushing herself off the wall in a surprising motion. “We were kicked out for a _reason_.”

Alphard ignores her in favor of tapping the hearing trumpet with his wand so that the voices coming through it are magnified enough so that all four of them can hear what’s happening without even having to lean in.

“…_completely_ irresponsible of you,” Druella is saying, her tone scandalized. “To think, you’ve been fraternizing with this… this…”

“Mudblood, you can say it, Mum,” Bellatrix interrupts bitingly. “We all know it, no need to dance around the word.”

“Oh, fuck you, Bella, who are you to talk? You married _that_ monstrosity!”

“Hey,” Rodolphus says, but he’s steamrollered by his wife.

“You don’t get to say shit about Rodolphus! At least he’s respectable, Ted Tonks isn’t worthy to lick the ground you’ve walked on and yet you’re throwing away your potential, everything you fucking could be, for _him_? My God, Andromeda, we could take care of this!”

“Take _care_ of it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sirius can picture Bellatrix shrugging here, effortlessly uncaring in an instant, arms crossed. “We could take care of it. Or him. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Bellatrix,” Walburga says there, in a warning voice. “Don’t speak of such things.”

“Do you think it matters? It’s just us here, we don’t have to pretend.” No one speaks, so Bellatrix continues, “We all know Rodolphus and I have connections. Hell, we all know Uncle Orion has connections too, why are we acting like this isn’t a solution to the problem?”

Cygnus has been stammering almost incoherently through the whole conversation whenever there has been an adequate pause that requires him to try and think of what to say, but he’s failed to come up with anything yet. At the mention of his name, however, Sirius’ father speaks.

“Young lady,” he says sternly, “the manner in which I conduct my business and maintain connections within the wizarding community has nothing to do with the band of hooligans that you and that fool of a boy you chose to marry run around with. I’ll thank you not to involve them in our family matters.”

Bellatrix is silent for a moment. In the hallway, no one speaks. Narcissa has her hands pressed to her mouth as though she’s afraid even to breathe.

“I can make my own decisions,” Andromeda says in a small but firm voice.

Seeming to finally have figured out what he’s wanted to say this whole time, Cygnus replies, “Then you can continue making them all on your own.”

Sirius isn’t sure if something about the magic stops working or if it’s just his brain having problems processing things or if something else happens entirely. All he really knows is that he can’t quite figure out what’s said next, his uncle is whispering _shit_ under his breath and grabs hold of all three kids and Apparates them to the parlor, where they all immediately position themselves as though they’ve been dutifully waiting there the entire time, there’s a bang from the dining room that Sirius worries is a spell going off but no, it’s just the doors slamming open, there’s Andromeda running up the stairs and Bellatrix shouting insults after her, there’s Druella looking like she’s about to pass out and Walburga forcing her to sit down with a disdainful look cast in her direction, there’s Orion and Cygnus speaking in serious, hushed tones about what all this means, there’s Andromeda coming back downstairs with a bag in her hand and pressing a kiss to half the faces in the room, there’s Druella begging her not to leave, to reconsider, to not do this to her family, to not bring shame upon the ancient and most noble house of Black, there’s Bellatrix spitting as Andromeda lights a fire and throws in the Floo powder, there’s Andromeda spinning in the fireplace and slowly disappearing.

The rest of the evening passes with his aunt bemoaning the family’s prospects and what everyone will say at the gala and how Narcissa was supposed to be _engaged_ soon, what’s going to happen if Abraxas Malfoy decides he doesn’t want his son to marry someone who’s from a family of damaged goods? Eventually everyone gets tired of soothing Druella and so to keep from snapping at her, Sirius’ parents gather up their coats and their children and their dignity – for Sirius is almost certain that whatever’s left in the dignity cache of the Black family belongs to their side – and head home.

The house is quiet and still, lights softly glowing, no doubt Kreacher’s doing, and despite how short the night ended up being, Sirius can think of nothing he’d rather do than go to bed. He starts to climb the stairs after hanging up his coat, Regulus just a step behind him, but they’re stopped by their mother’s voice.

“Boys,” she says, hand resting on the banister, “I know I don’t have to remind you that no one is to know about tonight’s events, at least not until we can figure out how to go about making a proper announcement. We don’t want any nasty rumors starting about your cousin, do we?”

“No, of course not,” Regulus says. Sirius just nods absently.

He heard what his mother said. He recognizes exactly why she said what she said. He totally understands it.

He also totally understands what Bellatrix meant by _connections_ and _we could take care of it_. Which is why when as soon as he gets into his room, instead of heading straight to bed, Sirius turns on the lamp on his desk, pulls out three sheets of paper and a pen stolen from Peter that makes writing so much faster, and writes, on the top sheet, _you’ll never believe the shit that went down at dinner._


	15. in which peter, despite being generally accepted as an angel, is about to encounter some difficulties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am really! trying! to be consistent. it's just hard. but i am trying.
> 
> i got suspended on twitter again. i am so sorry for the inconvenience. if u are interested the new @ is metaleaters. please do not ask.
> 
> twitter - metaleaters  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

The majority of James’ Christmas holidays are remarkably uneventful. He spends the most of it doing mundane yet comforting activities with his parents and corresponding with his friends and playing Quidditch with his cousins before they all head off to their various jobs and families and lives that all seem to be very far away from his house. He convinces his parents to let his friends come and stay this summer, he just has to get them to agree to it.

As an afterthought, James thinks that he might have to get their parents on board as well, but that seems like less of a challenge than getting Remus to remove himself, even in concept, from his only two designated safe locations for longer than a few days.

However, the back of James’ mind has been preoccupied the entire time away from Hogwarts with the various events that his friends are experiencing. James isn’t the only one out of his friend group who’s from a small family – in fact, the only one out of them who has more close relatives that can be easily counted is Sirius – but he thinks he’s having the most lackluster time at home than any of them. There isn’t anything to _do_ other than write letters to his friends, and he’s honestly surprised that he has so much to say, considering approximately nothing is happening. He finds little tidbits to tell each of his friends, however, detailing to Peter about the day he spends baking with his mum and telling Remus about how his dad is still insisting that he wind the old clock twice a day and relaying to Sirius a Quidditch tactic that his older cousin taught him – _he played for Gryff when he was in school, he knows what he’s talking about_ – that he thinks will really help them get a competitive edge going when they get back to Hogwarts.

Despite his lengthy letters that he sends out to his friends – and the teasing ones they write back to him about how he must miss them a _lot,_ judging from the amount of time and effort he put into this – James eventually concludes that his small stories are absolutely _nothing_ compared to what his friends are doing. Well, to be fair, he thinks that Remus is having a fairly quiet Christmas too, seeing as the moon was before they even left Hogwarts and he has an even smaller family than James does, but Peter and Sirius both seem to constantly have something going on.

Peter doesn’t have any siblings, but both of his mums do, and every communication that James receives from his friend is about how there are approximately a million people at their house, and how it’s good that they have a lot of room, even though it’s sort of dramatic because a lot of people don’t like the fact that his mums are together, especially since they met after Peter’s dad died, and now it’s weird because his dad’s parents are there, and yes, they’re technically his grandparents, but it’s _weird_ because Peter’s dad died when he was a baby and his grandparents spend every conversation with him telling him precisely how much he looks like his father.

_I passed my gran a basket of rolls at dinner and she called me an angel and said that’s exactly how my dad would’ve done it_, Peter writes. _She’s either senile or trying too hard to get me to relate to him. I mean, I’m interested, but this is murder. It’s been thirteen years, I think I’ve heard all the stories that exist by now_.

Sirius, on the other hand, had sent out a letter with _TOP SECRET_ scrawled across the envelope in hasty, splotchy ink, which naturally, James had torn open immediately and proceeded to read aloud to his parents in front of the fireplace in a dramatic voice, as though he’d just received the latest installment of a mystery story column in the local literary magazine.

“Oh, my,” his mum had said after James had finished Sirius’ letter, reading in a rush, _anyway that’s all I have to say, don’t tell anyone else about this yet thank you see you back at school, Sirius._ She pauses for a moment, then, as though she’d originally been planning to say something else but had been distracted, “James Fleamont Potter, that envelope says top secret!”

“Oh,” James says, picking it up from the floor where it had fallen during his dramatic pacing amidst his reading. “I didn’t see that.”

“It would’ve been a wonder if you’d even been able to read that, it’s nearly illegible,” his dad had commented, tilting his head to the side and squinting at the envelope. “Does Sirius turn in his essays with handwriting like that?”

“No, he’s usually very precise with his essays. His notes on the other hand… let’s just say there’s a reason why I never ask to look over his.”

“You’re not taking good enough notes to get all the information you need from your own?” his mum asks shrewdly, and James blushes furiously.

“No, I – Mum, that isn’t what I meant! It’s for comparison, to make sure I’m doing my work well!”

His mother just raises an eyebrow at him, but she lets it go.

James doesn’t know if his parents let go what Sirius had written in his letter as well. He has a disgustingly healthy relationship with his parents, he thinks; it’s at least healthy enough that he doesn’t contemplate eavesdropping on them to find out if they’ve discussed it or not until two days after the reading session, and by then it’s already too late. Before he really knows it, it’s time to head back to school, and he’s throwing his things in the little suitcase he brought with him this time instead of his trunk and running through all the questions he should’ve remembered to ask his friends in his latest letters to them in an attempt to remember to discuss it with them on the train.

His friends are late, and as usual, James is the most punctual out of any of them. This is his most bizarre trait, one that doesn’t seem to flow with the rest of his personality, and James is surprised that he doesn’t share it with Peter at _least_, given how organized his friend is about nearly everything.

That being said, his friends show up just barely a few minutes before the train is about to leave, James hanging out of the window of the compartment that he’d managed to snag by showing up _early_, a feat that his friends seem to find marvelous but is easily explained by planning properly for travel. James sees Peter literally run into Remus, the two of them crashing into each other and turning dramatically towards each other as though preparing to pick a bone with whoever had knocked into them, their expressions changing to those of surprise and joy upon recognizing each other. Sirius arrives on the scene just a moment later, seemingly having been able to find his friends a lot more easily now that two of them are together. The groups of their parents are all mingling, making small talk, and James, watching, notices Sirius’ mum turn and whisper something to her husband, the latter nodding thoughtfully after a moment.

_Where’s James_, he sees Sirius say, looking around for the last member of their group, and it’s this that prompts James to start waving and shouting until they notice him.

James’ heart fucking _soars_ at seeing his friends notice him and rush over with grins on their faces, doubling back to give their parents hasty hugs and shove their way through the crowds towards their compartment. He thinks he sees something that makes him have to pause for a moment; Sirius’ cousin Narcissa – her blonde hair is so distinctive that it’s like a beacon – is walking past the little knot of parents, the Lupins and the Pettigrews already dispersing, and she stops suddenly when her aunt snags her by the elbow and whispers something in her ear. James can’t figure out what’s said, despite how good he is at lip reading, because of the angle, and he can’t see what Narcissa’s expression is, but something about this makes him feel weird in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey, fucker,” Remus says then, coming into the compartment, effectively distracting James from his thoughts and making him pull away from the window. “How was your Christmas?”

“Good, but I already wrote each of you a novel about it,” James replies, pulling Remus into a hug as Sirius and Peter come in behind them. Remus seems like he wasn’t expecting that, because he makes an _oof_ sound when their torsos crash into each other, but James thinks it’s more from the impact than anything else.

Releasing Remus, James moves on to hug his other friends in turn, squeezing them all tightly for a few seconds.

“Did you miss us, then?” Peter asks, face squished against James’ shoulder, voice coming out slightly muffled.

“No, why would you say that?” James replies, stroking Peter’s hair for a moment and caressing his face in an exaggerated motion as he releases his friend and moves to sit down. “It wasn’t like I was dying without you or anything, Pete.”

“No, of course not,” Peter says wryly, sitting on the opposite side of the compartment and taking the spot by the window. “You wouldn’t dream of being that sentimental.”

“You know what I dream of?” Sirius interrupts, looking as though he’s clearly been dying to bring up his tumultuous family drama but has been trying his best to at least attempt to make it to a more socially acceptable time in the conversation. “Having a single Christmas go by without shit going down at one of the stupid social events I have to go to.”

“Fuck, Sirius,” Remus replies lightly, “your mother would be appalled at those manners, you didn’t even wait to be asked about what happened, it’s awfully rude of you to just steamroller your way into the center of the conversation, isn’t it?”

Sirius points at Remus threateningly. “I don’t like your tone.”

“What tone?”

“_That_ tone. You sound like you’d fit in at the gala.”

“Would I fit in at the gala?” James asks interestedly. “What about Pete?”

Sirius waves a hand through the air. “James, you’ve _been_ to one of the big parties, we both know you’d be fine. And Pete is an angel, more genuine and polite and likeable than any of us, if he doesn’t do well then none of us will.”

Peter frowns. “I think you overestimate my abilities to hold conversations with adults.”

“Don’t try to talk us out of this assessment, Pete, it’s the one thing we agree on.”

“I think we agree on more things than just this,” Remus begins, frowning, but stops when Sirius turns to him, an incredulous expression on his face.

“You can’t even let that statement sit without disagreeing with it, and the point of your disagreement is that we don’t disagree? You’re unbelievable.”

“_I’m_ unbelievable? Look at you!”

Sirius does a sort of double take at that, throwing his hands in the air. “Look at me? What about me?”

Remus gestures vaguely at Sirius, sputtering something that’s clearly meant to form an insult. James looks over Sirius and tries to figure out what exactly Remus is trying to get at; there’s nothing particularly out of place about Sirius right now, his eyes wide and his hair frustratingly nice and his clothes looking rumpled but in an artful way, like it was what he was intending.

Sometimes James is jealous of Sirius. This is not about to be one of those times.

He’s jolted out of his feelings of mild envy towards his best friend when a knot of students pass their compartment, pause to look inside, whisper to each other, and laugh in a way that James thinks is rather snide, instead of the bubbly giggling that he’s always hoping will come from passing girls. With everyone’s attention diverted by that sight – James isn’t the only one to notice, both Peter and Sirius refocus on their observers – Remus stops babbling in his ill-conceived attempt to insult Sirius and turns to see what his friends are looking at.

“What?” he asks, somewhat sharply, and the students move on.

“What was that?” James asks, standing up and opening the door so that he can stick his head outside the compartment and watch the group of friends depart. “I don’t even know who they are.”

“I think they were looking at me,” Peter says. James, still hanging onto the doorframe, turns halfway around to look at Peter again, frowning. He’s glad he’s still holding on when the train begins to chug out of the station at that exact moment; he sways a little bit but keeps his balance.

“What? Why?”

“Why were they looking at me or why do I think they were? I don’t know, Sirius, I think they were because one of them pointed at me. I don’t know why they _would_ be, though.”

Remus opens his mouth as though to say something, then stops himself.

“What?” Sirius asks him. “Did you remember what you were going to say about my appearance?”

“No, it’s not that, shut up,” Remus replies, but there’s no bite to his voice. “Weren’t those your cousin’s friends?”

“Narcissa?”

James thinks about how he’d seen Sirius’ mother whispering something to his cousin on the platform, but this… this isn’t anything connected to that, is it? For all he knows, they could’ve been sharing the secret ingredient to an ancient family recipe or something. Besides, a group of older Slytherin students passing their compartment and laughing isn’t something that’s exactly uncommon, what with the animosity between their Houses.

He decides not to say anything.

They try their best to put it out of their minds as the train makes its way north, eating their snacks from the trolley lady (“Why am I the only one who remembers her name? She has a nametag.” “Pete, it’s because you’re the only one sweet enough to _care_.” “You’re a menace, James, and I don’t trust you around the elderly.”) and telling stories about their weird dreams (“Wait, fuck, I need to write that down for Divination, tell it to me again but slower, this time, Remus.” “It’s not my fault that you didn’t do your homework!” “It’s not _my_ fault that I don’t have memorable enough dreams!”) and wondering what their return to school will be like, on a social level.

“I’m still in awe,” Sirius is saying now, lying on his back, stretched across the entire bench seat on one side of the compartment. His hand is resting lightly on James’ head, as the latter sits on the floor, methodically sorting Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into good, bad, and really bad piles but refusing to tell anyone which is which.

“In awe of what?” Peter asks. He’s gotten out his camera by now and is moving around the compartment, stepping over legs and sweets wrappers and jackets and magazines, climbing up on various things to get better angles of the compartment and his friends as though he’s photographing a crime scene. Another group of students pass their compartment and linger for just a bit too long.

“What the fuck do you want?” Remus asks sharply, as Peter snaps their picture. As they move on, he adds, “Why am I always the mean one?”

“Why do people still think you’re the _nice_ one, that’s the question,” James replies. Remus tosses a pepper-flavored bean at him. James catches it in his mouth.

“Look, I’m in _awe_,” Sirius interrupts, drawing the attention back to himself by sitting up on his elbows, “of how Emmeline Vance _talked_ to you in the hall, I still can’t get over that.”

“Oh,” Remus says, turning red. “That’s – I didn’t know what to say!”

“You didn’t know what to say, so you avoided her for weeks? That’s mature.”

“Okay, it was a week and a half, don’t exaggerate. And I don’t see you acting any better around Lily.”

“Hey,” James replies, slightly affronted. “I actually _speak_ to Lily, thank you very much.”

There’s a bit of a pause. Remus picks at what looks like a loose bit of fuzz from the upholstery of the bench, then says, “I didn’t _want_ to speak to her, I don’t – I don’t like her like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want her to be my _girlfriend_, I barely know her,” Remus replies. “Don’t look at me like that, James.”

“Like _what_?” James repeats, bewildered.

“Like I _could_ know her if I wanted to. I didn’t want to!”

“Why not?”

Remus shrugs. “I don’t know. Kissing her was nice. I’d like to do _that _again, but I don’t want to go on any dates with her or anything.”

“Wow,” Peter says slowly. “So, we’ve just established you’re an arsehole.”

Remus sputters incoherently for a few moments in an attempt to defend himself before Peter interrupts him with, “Oh, my god, I’m _kidding_.”

After a solid fifteen further minutes of making fun of Remus for his inability to express his emotions to a girl who’s interested in him and having an impromptu competition to see who can do the best impression of Emmie Vance saying _you know, Remus, if you didn’t want us to see each other again, you could have just told me_, the boys come to the conclusion that, in order to be good friends to each other, they should do their best to make sure that shit like this doesn’t happen again. The long and the short of this is making sure that Remus doesn’t make an idiot of himself again with Emmie Vance or with anyone else, which James thinks might be easier said than done.

Oddly, he’s not jealous of Remus for his ease of getting girls to notice him and the aloof way he’s able to deal with their interest. Why is he jealous of Sirius sometimes, then? Does Peter ever feel like this? James resolves to get his shit together. Or at least, to ask Peter about how he might feel about this, too.

The stream of students passing their compartment has not slowed since they first established themselves in this spot for their train journey; if anything, James thinks it’s increased. Honestly, it’s starting to grate on him a little bit. There are a few possibilities that he thinks might be the reason for this, and his growing irritation causes him to lay this out.

“Okay,” James says as they’re changing into their robes. He can see the Hogwarts skyline in the distance, an indication that if he wants to have this conversation, he needs to get it out fast. “I have some theories.”

“About what?” Sirius asks. “Remus, you’re an idiot, give me that.” He proceeds to grab Remus’ tie, smacking Remus’ hands out of the way and getting it neatly and properly knotted with a deftness that causes James to wordlessly prepare to hand his own over as soon as Sirius finishes with the first one.

“Hey, I can tie my tie myself,” Remus says mildly, but not making any move to intervene.

“You could have fooled me. Anyway, your theories, James? What were they about?”

“About why people keep _staring_,” James says, gesturing vaguely towards the windows. They’d closed the curtains to change, and he doesn’t know why they hadn’t thought of that earlier when they’d first begun being gawked at like zoo animals, but the knowledge that now people can’t see inside anymore is oddly soothing, comparatively.

“Lay it on us,” Peter replies absently, tying his shoes.

“Alright, theory number one. Quidditch rivalry.” That earns a groan from his friends, but James knows that they all know what he means, so he doesn’t go into it further. “Theory number two –”

“This is just like when he listed off those theories for what Remus could be getting up to when he disappears once a month,” Sirius says to Peter, who laughs.

“Oh, so this is what it was like, glad to know that I’m going to have an experience just like it so I can properly envision that night,” Remus replies dryly.

“Not quite, he had a much more detailed list of theories then.”

“_Theory number two_!” James interrupts, cutting off his friends. “Which is, oddly, connected to what you three just rudely interrupted me to speak about. Someone found out about Remus.”

“Whoa,” Remus says, frowning. “I think someone would’ve told me.”

“Also, how would someone have found out over the holiday? We’ve all been away, it isn’t odd that Remus disappeared, most of the school did,” Peter adds.

“It’s a theory, let me tell you the rest of them!” James replies dismissively, waving a hand through the air. “Theory number three, Sirius’ family scandal got out.”

“Wouldn’t they be going to look at Narcissa instead of me if that were the case?” Sirius asks dryly.

“Not necessarily, you’re interesting, too. I’m sure they went to go look at Regulus as well, if this is it.”

“Oh, what a generous compliment, James.”

“You’re welcome. Theory number four is that we’ve gotten very hot and people are coming to look at us purely for aesthetic purposes.”

That last theory is greeted by silence, then immediately followed by laughter from James’ audience.

“Alright, so that one was a stretch!”

As much of a stretch that James thinks theory number four may be, he still thinks there may be a grain of truth to it, as evidenced by the attention that continues to follow them as they leave the train. He thinks he can tell the difference between whispers and giggles of other students closer to their year versus the sidelong looks and hushed tones of the older students, who he can only connect with a vague feeling that they know Sirius’ cousin.

James is coming to realize that Narcissa knows a lot of people.

The feast is normal, except for the whispers. Dumbledore’s speech is uninteresting and weird, the thousands of dishes on the long Great Hall tables are good but nothing hugely remarkable, and the pit in James’ stomach at not knowing what the fuck is going on is making his leg bounce under the table.

“Hey,” a voice says suddenly, about halfway through dinner, and James looks to his left to see that Marlene has vacated her position with the girls from their year to come sit next to him, straddling the bench with her elbow resting on the table like she’s a cowboy about to tell him about how rich he could become if he were to follow the trail of an outlaw and bring him to justice for a bounty.

“Hey,” James says after a moment, a little surprised. “What’s up, Marlene?”

“Not much, JP, can you lean either back or forward? I want to talk to Pettigrew.”

Peter stands up about halfway, to see Marlene over James’ head. James scrunches down and leans over in response, wondering why he and Peter didn’t just switch places, but saying nothing.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” Peter asks somewhat warily.

Sirius, across the table, elbows Remus sharply to get him to pay attention. Remus hisses in pain, then, in the same tone, says, “Fuck, did you _sharpen_ your elbows? Also, I’m _listening_, you don’t need to tell me.”

“You never know.”

Someone throws something across the Great Hall. It’s a wadded-up piece of parchment; before James can reach up and grab it, it smacks Peter squarely in the temple and falls to the ground. He reaches down to grab it, frowning, unfolding its crumpled edges to reveal what’s written inside.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Marlene says simply. “I was trying to catch you before something like this happened, I heard things on the train but…”

She trails off. Peter sits, much more slowly than how he stood. His expression hasn’t changed, but James… James is worried that this is more indicative of something being wrong than anything else.

“What does it say?” Remus asks, after a moment.

Peter doesn’t say anything, he just tosses the parchment into the middle of the table and stands up again, walking out of the Great Hall resolutely.

“What’s up with him?” James asks. “Pete! Come back!”

Peter doesn’t come back.

The parchment had fallen onto some sort of sauce, and Sirius is delicately lifting it out, in some sort of attempt not to smudge it further. He looks at it for a moment, then says, “Oh,” and immediately stands up and goes after Peter.

James squints at it. “I can’t read that.” He looks to Marlene for an explanation.

She sucks in a breath, shrugging. “I heard, on the train… I think someone found out about his mums? The wrong people, at least. So, I mean. Knowing that, I’m sure you can guess what it says.”

“Oh,” James says, more to say anything than in actual understanding. Then, “_Oh_.”

He and Remus glance to each other across the table and follow their friends out of the Great Hall.


	16. in which james asks questionable questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! we are back with another chapter. this one is starting to get more plot-spicy things happening.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this chapter does feature homophobic slurs and actions. as you could probably guess from the last chapter, this was coming. the reason why people have such a negative reaction is because it was the 1970s and the wizarding community is fairly conservative. the reason the slurs were used is to convey the seriousness of people's bigotry and ignorance. the reason remus is lightly homophobic is because of how society was at the time - people were not usually supportive of gay rights, most of them thought it was weird, but they didn't care that much - and because while he hasn't had any reason to have suspicions about himself yet, when he does he will be CHOCK FULL of internalized homophobia and self-hatred because that's how he is. basically, this happening to pete's parents is mostly a plot device for foreshadowing and to gauge everyone's reactions for when this happens for people they are much closer to. i hope that answers all the questions. please let me know if you have any more.
> 
> twitter - metaleaters  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Peter can walk fast. Remus becomes increasingly aware of this when he and James are rushing out of the Great Hall after Sirius, who’d dashed after Peter almost immediately.

James is _also_ a fast walker, and Remus has to do a double take when he sees his friend putting a bit of a jog into his steps to catch up.

Remus does not run. He can, sure, but he chooses not to nearly every day of his life. It is undignified and it makes his chest hurt and he hates it. However, he does use his long legs to his advantage to keep pace relatively well with James as they speed through the corridors towards Peter and Sirius.

Sirius looks behind himself in surprise when Remus and James reach him. “How’d you get here so fast?”

James shrugs. “We only left a minute after you did.”

“Yeah, but he was off like a shot.”

They’ve come to a halt in front of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady frowning at them as they reach Peter, who’s cut her off in the middle of asking them why they’re back so early from the feast with a hasty, “Grandiloquent,” causing the door to swing open.

“Pete,” Sirius tries as Peter climbs through the portrait hole, but he’s ignored.

Remus isn’t surprised when Peter makes a beeline for the stairs, and he can see the intention in his friend’s movements; he can tell that there’s nothing Peter wants more right now than to curl up under his blankets and ignore his friends for the rest of the night and possibly forever, but he isn’t about to let that happen. He surges forward about halfway through the common room and snags Peter’s elbow, pulling him back. Peter had been moving at such a speed that he sort of arcs around at the sudden impediment to his motion, coming to a halt facing the opposite way, bumping into the arm of a sofa.

“Pete,” Remus says softly, his hand still on Peter’s arm.

Peter doesn’t reply. He’s looking down, jaw clenched, breathing tightly, his heart beating so hard that Remus can feel it with the hand he has on his arm.

“Pete,” he says again, because he can’t think of what else to say.

James comes around to sit on the sofa right by where Peter is standing, ducking his head so that he can show up in Peter’s line of vision without Peter moving his head. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Peter replies, his voice so small Remus can barely hear him.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks, leaning over the back of the sofa so that he’s fit himself into the circle.

“Full confession, I couldn’t read what the note said,” James says then, in a light and self-deprecating tone that makes Peter huff out a little laugh, one that sounds like it’s half a cough after almost crying. “But I got the gist.”

“You should probably know what it actually said, just so we’re all on the same page,” Peter says tightly, looking up finally. He blinks rapidly but looks resolute.

“Pete, you don’t have to –” Sirius begins, but Peter holds up a hand to interrupt him, shaking his arm out of Remus’ grip with that motion.

“No, I do. I mean, this isn’t really anything that I _hid_ from you three, you’re my best friends, but I guess maybe we have to have a real conversation about it.”

Remus is almost uncomfortable with that. Up until now, he’s been focused on making sure Peter is okay, that he’s not about to collapse to the ground and that he’s reassured that his friends love him and are here for him. But there’s something about discussing this elephant in the room that makes Remus uneasy.

He thinks that might be because he doesn’t come from a… he thinks he can only describe it is as a _talking_ family. They’re nothing on Sirius’ family, but Remus is fully aware that he doesn’t have nearly as close of a relationship with his parents and Peter and James do with theirs. This is why, he thinks, that he’s slightly unsettled at the idea of having such a frank discussion about what’s happened tonight.

On top of that, it’s because he knows what _his_ dad at least has said about Peter’s parents – it hasn’t been anything over the top, just mostly that he thinks that it’s not a good environment for Peter and that he doesn’t think it’s natural for him to have two mums, which Remus thinks seems to be the general opinions of most people – so he can imagine that, judging from the note, the things that other people’s parents might have to say could lead to a whole storm of shit coming towards Peter in the near future.

“So, if anyone didn’t figure it out by now,” Peter says, sitting down in the armchair to the side of the sofa, “I have two mums. I’m telling you this so we can all be on the same page and you can decide if you’re going to stop being friends with me because of this after you get all the facts straight.”

“What the fuck?” Sirius says sharply, indignantly, suddenly. “Why would we stop being friends with you because of that?”

Peter sighs. “People don’t like gay people, Sirius.”

“They – oh!” James exclaims, as though he’s just realized something.

“Yes?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing. Continue.”

“Did… did you think when I said I had two mums that I meant… something other than them being a couple?”

“I don’t know!” James replies, a deep blush starting to appear on his face. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“Well,” Peter says, pausing, a small smile forming despite the situation, “now you know. Think about it if you want to. Anyway, it’s never been that big of a deal, no one really asked me anything here or cared about it, but apparently, it’s a thing. Someone told people who don’t like it and now everyone is talking about it. Or they will be, by tomorrow.”

No one speaks for a moment. Remus, at least, is trying his fucking hardest to think about what he’s supposed to do going forward.

He wants to make sure Peter is okay. He wants to fucking deck anyone who makes him feel bad about something that he doesn’t have any control over. That doesn’t mean that the whole situation doesn’t make Remus slightly uncomfortable, but he isn’t going to fucking _say_ anything like that to Peter. So for now, he turns so he’s leaning against the arm of the sofa, facing Peter more directly, and waits for him to continue with what he was saying.

Remus glances at Sirius. He’s still frowning, like he’s trying to work something out, but not like he has a problem with what Peter is saying. Whatever the reason for his silence, Remus is glad that he’s not the only one waiting for Peter to speak again before voicing any opinions.

“Long story short, James, the note that got thrown at me said something along the lines of _you’re a freak just like your mums, get out of my school, you faggot_,” Peter says in a monotone, like he’s trying not to show that it had hurt him, before crossing his arms tightly and leaning back in the armchair as though bracing himself against it for the potential reactions.

After a beat, James says, “Are you?”

“James,” Sirius says sharply. It comes out like a reprimand. Remus is a bit taken aback at the forcefulness in his tone, and he actually looks over his shoulder at Sirius. “That is not the question you should be asking.”

“Sorry,” James replies quickly, looking to Peter apologetically. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask.”

“You’re supposed to ask if he’s okay and if he’s going to report it. Are you going to report it?”

Remus snorts.

“What?” Sirius asks. Remus doesn’t understand why he looks so upset about this. About James’ question, that is, not about someone being shitty to Peter.

“Nothing, it’s just – no one’s going to care. The teachers, that is.”

“I know,” Peter says. He’s very still, except for his left leg, which will not stop bouncing.

“Says who?” Sirius replies indignantly. “He’s being targeted.”

“It was just one time,” Peter protests.

“You said yourself that you think everyone’s going to be talking about it tomorrow,” Sirius retorts. “We can’t just let them be shitty to you, that’s – that’s not okay.”

“People are gonna be shitty no matter what,” Remus says. “The most we can do is make sure that we watch out for Pete.”

“We could _watch out for Pete_ by telling someone about it.”

“Why are we arguing?” Remus asks, utterly bewildered.

Sirius blinks and opens his mouth, pausing a moment before responding. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What, because I don’t think any of the teachers will take us seriously if we bring up someone being mean about Pete’s mums being dykes? That’s the truth, Sirius.”

“We won’t know if we don’t try,” James interjects. “We could at least tell McGonagall –”

“What’s she gonna do? We don’t know who threw that note.”

“We should still _say_ something,” James insists. “At the very least, it would make sure she looks out for Pete, too.”

“Remus is right,” Peter says suddenly. Remus turns towards his voice; in the argument, he’d almost forgotten that Peter had been there, listening to the conversation about him. “They’re not going to care.”

“They might not, but other people seem like they will,” Sirius replies.

There’s a pause.

James raises his hand like he’s in a lesson. “I have a question.”

“Yes, James?” Peter says, pointing to him like a teacher calling on a student. “What is it?”

“This may be rude. I’m sorry.” He looks down, frowning. “How were you conceived?”

The reaction from each of the other boys is loud and rife with disgusted noises.

“What the fuck?” Remus asks, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you ask all your friends that?”

“Look, I just – neither of them have dicks!” James looks to Peter for confirmation. “Right? Neither of them have dicks?”

Peter splutters for a moment before replying, “I mean, I would _assume_ so? I’ve never asked?”

“That’s a _disgusting_ question, James, why would you want to think about your friend’s parents having sex?” Sirius asks, looking like he might throw up. “How long have you been thinking about asking that?”

“I just want to know for a scientific perspective!”

“I – James, I _wrote_ to you about my dead dad!”

“Oh,” James says, in sudden recognition. “You’re right. You did. My mistake.”

It turns out that James isn’t the only person who has questions about Peter’s mums, though he may be the only person who phrases it quite as nicely and is aware of the possibility of it being rude.

No less than eleven people come up to Peter to bother him in the corridors about his home life on their first day back in lessons. The questions vary in their levels of offensiveness, from _who pays when they go out to eat_ (“They have a joint bank account, so it doesn’t really matter.”) to _hey Pettigrew, is the fact that you have two mums the reason you’re such a pussy?_

That one earns a shout from James and several threats of violence that are only dispelled by Flitwick turning the corner into the corridor.

The vague shouts of insults and shoves to Peter’s shoulders and the _which one of your friends’ cocks have you sucked today, Pettigrew_-esque jibes continue in the same manner over the next day or so, but by the time their last lesson on their second day back is beginning, it seems like their group of friends has been handling it very differently.

Unsurprisingly, James has responded to every negative word towards Peter in the same way that he’s reacted to any bad thing said about any of his friends; with an immediate _say that again, fucker, you’ll see exactly how much of a pussy he is, I’ll show you with my fucking fist_ and at least two of the other boys holding him back. Sirius fucking _seethes_ every time someone says something, but he’s managed to get a better handle on not jumping to physical violence, instead resorting to making cutting remarks and furtively flipping off the culprits. Peter has largely kept his head down, choosing to remain stoic and silent when slurs are thrown his way. Remus is impressed at how he’s managed to not respond to anything, pretty much, especially when he isn’t even any of the things that people are calling him.

Remus doesn’t think he would be able to handle it with as much grace as Peter is. This is why – and this may be an awful thing to think, which is why Remus will never, never, never, _never_ say it out loud – he’s glad that this is what the thing was that was making people stare at them on the train, rather than someone finding out about his… problem.

He is well aware that this is possibly the most selfish and horrible thing that he could think, especially when his friend is going through something like this. But _fuck,_ Remus is glad that no one knows about him.

Lycanthropy is nothing like being gay. Someone finding out about what the moon does to him would mean he has to leave school. That wouldn’t happen to someone who sucked a dick while having one. And it isn’t even like Peter does that; this is just unfair because Peter’s not even in control of what’s happening.

This is all to say that Remus is handling this by not saying anything other than trying to make sure Peter isn’t too torn up about what’s happening.

That is, until they enter Tuesday’s double Potions with the Slytherins.


	17. in which slughorn has terrible classroom control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hint at who does * at the end in the last chapter. if ur paying attention u will know who did it. ;) also sorry it's late today i had a lot of trouble writing this also i'm CONTINUALLY sorry for the use of homophobic slurs. see disclaimer in the last chapter.
> 
> twitter - metaleaters  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Professor Horace Slughorn has never been one to police the actions of his students for the majority of his lessons, particularly when it’s a double lesson like this one. His only requirements from his class are that they pay attention during his initial lecture about how to go about brewing the potion that they’re working on and that the work he sets for them is completed by the time the bell rings.

This classroom policy, combined with the general noise and chaos that come from a course that’s nearly entirely practical work, make it unsurprising when tensions come to a head in this particular lesson.

Peter doesn’t like to categorize his fellow students solely by the attributes that may or may not have led to them being Sorted into their particular Houses. He knows that there’s a very wide range of traits that could lead to belonging to a House; hell, the evidence is apparent if he compares himself to James or Remus or Sirius. They’re all _different_, yet they’re all living in the same dorm, which tells Peter that the Sorting Hat must’ve found at least _some_ similarities between them and Godric Gryffindor himself.

That being said, Peter can safely categorize nearly every Slytherin as, at least on some level, a fucking imbecile.

He hasn’t been nearly as bothered as he thinks he should be about this whole… thing going on. It doesn’t matter to him that the teachers wouldn’t fight on his behalf if he had asked them to (he’d always known that) or that a lot of the people he’s friendly with won’t look him in the eyes (they’ll get over it, it’s probably just because they don’t know what to think about the situation right now) or that his friends aren’t exactly acting the way he’d like them to (it’s selfish, but he wants James to get into the fights he keeps threatening, he wants Sirius to do more than make sharp comments, he wants Remus to stop being so _uncomfortable_ with all of this, but he understands why they _don’t_). However, it does bother him when he’s fucking trapped in the same classroom as the people who are the primary culprits for the sort of comments he’s been subject to.

It’s not bad when it’s in the hall and someone shoves him and James shouts after them. It’s not bad when someone calls him a poof for having two mums because Peter knows he isn’t and even if he _was_, he would know it was okay. It’s not bad when it’s people he doesn’t know and when he’s passing them for a moment and before it can get worse he’s somewhere else, somewhere he can either be away from it or be with people who aren’t going to say shit.

He realizes that it _is_ bad and it _does_ bother him when Tuesday afternoon comes around.

They’ve pretty much narrowed down that it was some Slytherin parents who started the rumor for several reasons: the trajectory of the note that was thrown at Peter at the feast, the mouths from which the majority of the insults have been coming, and the general bigotry of that particular House as a rule. This is why Peter had been expecting this afternoon to be bad, given that this is their first lesson with the Slytherins since coming back to Hogwarts, but he hadn’t really known what to expect.

Slughorn does his speech at the beginning of the lesson, buying Peter a precious half hour of people not having the opportunity to speak to him, sitting at the big table with his three best friends around him like a buffer, but still so fucking aware of the table of Slytherins sitting behind them.

Peter thinks he hears a _psst_ behind him, from one of them, probably fucking Snape, he’s always the instigator, but he resolutely ignores it.

They’re meant to be brewing a Confusing Concoction. Someone makes a comment about how _maybe if Pettigrew’s mums hadn’t drunk that, they wouldn’t be dykes_. Surprisingly, the response isn’t from James, even though he’s already standing to shout at the culprit, but from Marlene, who snaps that _if you want something to be confused about you can have my fist in your face_.

“Settle down, settle down,” Slughorn says blandly. “Let’s get to work on our potions, shall we?”

The class obliges. At least, they do in response to Slughorn’s second request, as everyone starts to prepare their ingredients and pore over the instructions in their Potions books and make messes of their stations in an attempt to put together something halfway decent to turn in at the end of the lesson. They do not, however, settle down.

The little knot of Slytherins that always seem to be behind every single antagonistic action towards Peter and his friends when they’re in lessons together has chosen to sit behind them. Glancing behind at them in an attempt to trace the trajectory of a dried Shrivelfig that had bounced off of the back of his head, Peter can see that Snape has chosen to sit with other members of his House, rather than with Lily, as he usually tends to do in Potions.

The rest of his gang – well, Peter doesn’t think he can really call it _Snape’s_ gang, considering he’s barely a part of it, he thinks Rosier might be the one more in charge of their group – are snickering as though throwing a Shrivelfig at Peter is the height of comedy. He narrows his eyes at them.

“Need something, Pettigrew?” Mulciber asks, sneering at him.

“Fuck off,” Sirius says sharply, next to Peter, apparently noticing what’s happened. “Don’t you have dicks to suck?”

“Don’t you?” Avery retorts, his response receiving murmurs of _nice_ and cackles of approval from his friends around the table.

The conversation has drawn the attention of Remus and James as well, at this point. James, sitting on his stool at the tall table, has one foot resting on the bar between the legs of the stool and is bouncing his leg relentlessly, frowning. Remus, on the other hand, has spun around to interject into the conversation.

“Wow, that was so clever,” he says dryly, arms crossed. “I can’t imagine a more witty and sharp-tongued response than that, I’m blown away.”

“Yeah, you are, when Pettigrew sucks you off.”

“This isn't even insulting anymore,” Peter says, slightly bewildered at the truth behind his statement. “If you’re going to be nasty, at least be creative about it.”

With that, he turns back around and tries to focus on his potion. He thinks he hears Rosier laughing, not at him but at his friends, and Snape hissing at them that if they could not be stupid for one day, that would be great.

An hour passes. Confusing Concoctions are more hands on than many of the potions they’ve had to learn in the past and require an odd balance of attention – too much hovering over it and you may be subject to the fumes yourself. That being said, Peter isn't surprised when several students become addled to the point of having to take a break from their assignments and takes to holding his breath when he needs to position his face directly above his cauldron.

With half of the lesson gone, Peter thinks maybe, just maybe, people are absorbed enough in their work to ignore him and his shit for now. How much longer can they really spend taunting him for the way his family works? It isn't like that shit is going to change. However, Peter hadn’t counted on the fumes from the potions having an impact on the reckless stupidity of both his friends and the gang of Slytherins sitting behind them.

James has been known to have terrible posture. He spends nearly all of his time actually doing schoolwork bent over whatever project he’s doing; it’s to the point where Sirius tells him to sit up every time, which generally prompts a jab from Remus about how he’s going to be a hunchback when he gets old if he keeps this up. It’s less noticeable in Potions, when the cauldrons are set on the high tables and so pretty much only James’ neck is bent over, but Peter should have expected James to be swayed by the effects of the Confusing Concoction.

“Shit,” Sirius says suddenly, looking over at James, who’s scrunched up his face and is blinking rapidly. “Shit, James, Slughorn _said_ not to stick your face in it!”

“It’s not my fault! I have astigmatism!”

“You wear glasses! That problem is _solved_!”

“I don’t think it is,” James counters, pointing. At what exactly, Peter isn't sure, because his finger keeps moving. “My vision has gotten noticeably worse today.”

“Oh, Potter, did you spend too much time over your potion too?” Slughorn says then, passing them as he makes his way around the classroom. “Alright, Lupin, please turn down the flame on Potter’s cauldron so his assignment doesn’t boil away. The rest of you, try to learn from your classmate’s decisions, please, I’ll be back to check on you later.” He bustles away to the next table of students, muttering something about how he should’ve thought to provide masks, or maybe if these kids _listened_ to him, it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.

“What now?” James asks. “I think I’m the only one having a reaction like this.”

“No, blurred vision is one of the possible side effects,” Peter replies, flipping through his textbook, skimming the information on Confusing Concoctions. “It depends on which stage your potion is in. If it’s made improperly, the fumes can make you act like you’re drunk, but because I think – what did you just add, James?”

“Uh,” James says, squinting furiously at his notes, “scurvy grass?”

“Yeah, you’re at the point where it would cause blurry vision or possibly shaky and tingly hands.”

“Wonderful. Any answers on how long it’ll be until this wears off?”

“No, I think it’ll just take as long as it – Remus, fuck, how hard is it for you to turn down James’ burner?” Peter asks incredulously.

Remus has been fiddling with the dial on the burner under James’ cauldron in an attempt to make the flames go down for far too long to be normal. Sirius cranes his neck to look around Peter and get a closer view of what’s happening on the other side of the table, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Whoa.”

“Shut up,” Remus replies shortly.

“I didn’t say anything, Pete was the one who pointed it out.”

“Is this why you’re so bad at Potions? Your fire’s always weird?”

“What’s happening?” James asks, rubbing at his eyes. “Remus, are you gonna make me fail this lesson? That’s a cruel move, mate.”

“Fuck, I give up,” Remus says, throwing his hands in the air and moving backwards so sharply from the cauldron that he actually moves his stool a few inches away from the table. “Someone else do it.”

Peter reaches around Remus to dial down James’ burner. For a moment, he gets a small thrill of positivity in his stomach at the thought that things feel _normal_. Despite the activity in the classroom and James’ blurry vision and half the class wandering around aimlessly and forgetting about their potions from the effects of said concoctions, Peter feels almost settled. This is a regular kind of havoc, this is something he knows how to handle.

That is, until someone from behind him unexpectedly shoves his head forward and he knocks it against the lip of his cauldron.

Peter both hits his head on a massive stone pot and gets some of his potion in his face, so the details that follow are fuzzy at best, but he’s acutely aware of several things. Remus shouts something like _oi _at whoever shoved him, he hears Sirius saying something angry as well, but it’s drowned out by the response from the aggressor and the pounding in his head. James asks what’s happening and no one answers him. Sirius has a hand on Peter’s shoulder and is asking him in a soft voice if he’s okay. Peter finds himself nodding. He can’t tell if this is the impact of the cauldron on his forehead or the potion in his eyes that’s making him so dizzy. He puts his head down on the table. There’s more arguing. Slughorn asks something from across the room. Sirius says _fuck you_, Snape says _I don’t know why you’re defending him, it was your cousin who told everyone, shouldn’t you be in on it_, Sirius says _don’t fucking lie, _Rosier says _we don’t have anything to hide from you_, Remus says _you’re an arsehole_, James says _I can see again_ and someone throws a punch.


	18. in which minerva lays down the law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! bit of a shorter chapter today. i usually try to make each chapter 2k, as i think it's a good length, but this one is about 1.5k. it seems good for flow of plot and i think will add to the suspense of the next few chapters, so that's good! hopefully we can ride this plot train all the way into fourth year ;)
> 
> thank you for everyone who has said nice things about toaw lately. i appreciate and love you all!
> 
> twitter - metaleaters  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

The thing about throwing a punch at another student in the middle of a full, if hectic, classroom with a teacher fully able to see the entire situation, is that you only get in _real_ trouble if it escalates from there. This is why Sirius thinks they might be looking at two detentions, rather than anything worse. There was only one punch thrown, by Remus, and it didn’t connect.

Hogwarts categorizes fighting into several levels. Shouting at each other with some occasional shoving is the lowest tier, anything that draws blood is the next, and actually using magic against each other – no matter the intentions of the spells – is the highest. Sirius is almost surprised that they’re not about to get into more trouble for physical altercations when most members of the wizarding community seem to think that actually hitting someone with your fist is a base and lowly form of violence, but this doesn’t seem to be the direction that they’re moving.

The key word here is _seems_ because after the almost-fight was broken up, after the two sides of the situation were separated, after the boys were taken to McGonagall’s office to sit across her desk from her and await their fates, the most that she’s said have been a few terse words.

Sirius almost wishes she’d shout at them. Her tightly crossed arms and thin line of a mouth have been unchanging for at least two minutes at this point, and he would love to get it over with.

The only sound in the room comes from the slight rattling of James’ clearly unbalanced chair as one of his legs bounces from his nerves.

“Professor –” James begins, but McGonagall holds up a hand to silence him.

It takes her another moment to speak. Then, “I am, frankly, appalled.”

No one speaks. Peter clears his throat. It sounds more like one that’s rooted in making the situation less uncomfortable, rather than making people look at him, but McGonagall turns her gaze on him anyway. “Yes, Mr. Pettigrew?”

“Oh, uh, nothing. I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“What?” Sirius says sharply, turning to look at Peter. On his other side, James’ leg abruptly ceases to bounce. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but,” Peter replies, grimacing, “it’s my thing that made this happen.”

“Professor Slughorn wasn’t exactly clear on what caused this,” McGonagall interrupts, cutting through any potential responses to Peter’s statement, “so I’d like to get this ironed out. Would one of you _please_ be so kind as to tell me _precisely_ what led to your involvement in a fight with another group of students in the middle of a lesson?”

It isn't a question, despite the way it’s phrased, and the polite words do nothing but make it even more clear that McGonagall means business. She shifts, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward with her forearms resting on her desk, gaze shifting to each of them in turn.

Again, no one seems willing to volunteer any information. Sirius can only speak for himself, but he doesn’t know where the fuck to even begin, so he can only assume that his friends are struggling with the same conundrum.

“Pete has two mums,” James blurts suddenly. McGonagall blinks.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I’m aware,” she replies slowly. Almost imperceptibly, her eyes narrow. “Was someone giving you a hard time because of this?”

Peter shrugs.

“Someone?” Remus asks then, speaking for the first time since they’ve been called into McGonagall’s office. “Professor, _everyone’s _been giving him a hard time about this. We’ve been trying to get people to back off, because whatever Pete’s family life is, he doesn’t have any control over that and it isn't anyone’s business, but Avery _shoved_ him earlier, he hit his head on his cauldron, he could’ve been really hurt.”

“We couldn’t just _let_ that happen, he didn’t do anything wrong,” James adds. “Someone fu – _hurts_ one of us, and the rest of us will say something.”

“And I admire that loyalty in your group of friends,” McGonagall interrupts, “but even though you didn’t start it, even though your only intention was to watch out for your friend, it is unacceptable to involve yourselves in physical altercations with other students, _especially_ in the middle of a classroom. You’re third year students, this isn't the first time in a Potions classroom. What would’ve happened if there had been an accident with dangerous ingredients?”

Sirius grits his teeth sullenly at this. He knows she’s right, but that isn't the _point_, they were watching out for Peter, doesn’t she understand why they did what they did? Besides, it isn't like they were doing anything particularly wild that day in Potions, it isn't like they’re N.E.W.T. students.

James opens his mouth like he wants to object. McGonagall just looks at him sternly for a moment until he closes it.

“That being said,” she continues, “I understand why you did what you did, and I commend you for standing up for Mr. Pettigrew. Because of that, you are each going to write a letter of apology to Professor Slughorn for the disruption in his lesson –”

“But Professor, it wasn’t our fault!”

“I’m aware of that, Mr. Black, but the way the three of you ultimately handled the rest of the situation led to the lesson dissolving into chaos. I’m not saying you should have remained silent; in fact, I’m not sure there was a much better way of advancing. The fact remains, however, that you were involved in a situation that disrupted the lesson of one of your teachers, and because you are going to work on maintaining and improving the reputation of Gryffindor House –” she punctuates this phrase with a pointed look at the boys, “– you are going to smooth over relations between yourselves and the Head of Slytherin House.”

There’s a moment where the boys digest what they’ve been told, then after receiving mumbles of _yes professor_, she continues.

“Furthermore, you will receive a detention served with the members of Slytherin House who were also involved in the altercation. Professor Slughorn and I have spoken and have agreed that the two of us will administer the detention together to try and foster teamwork and cohesion between our two Houses. Mr. Potter, I believe you’ve experienced something like this before. Hopefully, it’ll be a bit more effective this time.”

James fidgets under her gaze, clearly thinking back to the detention he’d been forced to serve with Snape after their fight the previous year.

Sirius finds himself speaking. “Does Peter have to go?”

Peter turns to look at him in surprise. Apparently, Sirius had been the only one to consider that Peter hadn’t done anything wrong and shouldn’t have to go to the detention. Fuck, if Peter has to go to this too, after all the shit he’s been dealing with, Sirius is going to kick off.

“No,” McGonagall replies. “Mr. Pettigrew is exempt from the detentions. I think what he’s been dealing with has been punishment enough.”

“Oh,” Peter says in a small voice, “thank you.”

“Certainly. Now, I suggest you boys head back to your dormitory.”

Sirius stands, his friends beginning to do the same thing, when McGonagall continues, “Mr. Pettigrew, would you stay back for a moment longer? I’d like to speak with you.”

“Oh,” Peter repeats, frowning. “Yes, of course.”

Peter stays seated, looking behind him as his friends step out of the door and shut it behind them, waiting just outside it until he emerges.

For a few minutes, leaning against the wall, no one speaks. They’d been sent to McGonagall’s office almost immediately after shit had gone down in Potions, so most lessons are still going and the halls are quiet. Sirius thinks he’s never experienced Hogwarts quite so still while the sun is still shining. He doesn’t mind it.

“Do you think he’s okay in there?” James asks after a moment, jerking his head towards the door to indicate that he’s talking about Peter. “He seemed pretty shaken up.”

“He should’ve gotten to go to Pomfrey before being interrogated, he got smacked on the head,” Remus replies, sounding disgruntled.

“Oh, fuck, I wasn’t even _thinking_ about his head, he just seemed sad.”

“Well, that too.”

Sirius stays quiet, tuning out the sounds of his friends worrying about Peter and hypothesizing what exactly it is that they think they might have to do for their joint detention with the Slytherins. He can’t stop thinking about something that Snape had said during the argument.

_I don’t know why you’re defending him, it was your cousin who told everyone, shouldn’t you be in on it?_

Sirius has a big extended family. Technically, everyone from a pureblood line is related to him, particularly those from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But he only has three cousins with the same last name as him, and only one currently at Hogwarts.

“Hey,” comes a voice, suddenly, and Sirius’ thoughts are interrupted by James leaning closer to him and waving a hand vaguely in Sirius’ line of vision. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replies, somewhat distractedly. “Just worried.”


	19. in which james suggests baldness as a form of revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. yes, it's been a million years. i have no excuses. however i'm stuck inside due to social distancing so we can give our good friend the coronavirus a shoutout for giving me the time/energy to actually write :) also to my friends for encouraging/pestering me until i started it up again. love u xxxxxxxxxxx
> 
> also thank you to anyone with this series on notifs i know the updates have been dry as HELL lately but i'm going to get into a good routine. my promises have been empty before. but things are a-changing. i want to get to fourth year so bad. that's when things start to get good. 
> 
> anyway. please let me know what you think! i love u all.
> 
> twitter - kaladinkholins (yeah that's new)  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Peter doesn’t say anything about what happened. Not about the note, not about Potions class, not about what Snape had said to Sirius, not about the bruise on his forehead, not about the fight, not about the silence afterwards.

McGonagall had asked to keep him afterwards, and Peter ordinarily tries to actually be attentive when he’s speaking to a teacher, but for the life of him he can’t remember anything that she’d spoken to him about. He’s sure she’d said something about how this wasn’t his fault and how the school doesn’t stand for bullying and how they’ll look into this and how the culprits won’t be getting away with this – he’s heard it before. Not here, certainly, but this isn't Peter’s first time dealing with something almost exactly the same.

Nothing about this situation is new.

Well. That’s not entirely true.

Something new can be categorized by the looks of worry on his friends’ faces when he comes out of McGonagall’s office and the rather somber procession they make heading back to the common room and how they don’t stop looking at him like that for going on a fucking _week_ after the initial blowup. He’s pretty sure they had a conversation while he was in the office on how to best tiptoe around him after he emerges but haven’t spoken about it since, judging from the inconsistencies in their treatments of him.

James has been surprisingly gentle in the week that’s passed. Hostile to anyone who glances at Peter the wrong way, but less loudly, as though he’s actively working on drawing less attention to him. Remus has been almost militant in his attempts to make things seem normal, to the point where Peter has noticed him actively changing the subject every time they even get close to broaching the topic of Peter’s mums. Peter isn't sure if it’s Remus being uncomfortable with the concept talking (he can’t pretend he isn't, Peter has noticed the twist of his mouth and his slightly furrowed brow and his flippant way of saying that people shouldn’t be making fun of Peter, because it’s not _him_ who isn't normal) or if he’s trying to keep Peter from dwelling on a subject that has already caused him pain, but either way, Peter doesn’t mind.

The outlier, however, is Sirius.

Sirius has always been easy. Effortless. It’s like if he encounters a problem or a challenge or someone new or something he hasn’t learned yet it just rolls onto him, through him, off of him. Peter has never known him to not understand how to deal with something or to struggle with a situation for more than a few moments at a time. Being friends with him is like that. There are rarely any moments of clashing, anything that would cause a hitch in the relationship. Sirius cares so _much_ about everything and everyone in his life that Peter would never think of him as thoughtless.

However, this deep caring is making it obvious that Sirius feels intensely guilty about what Snape said about his cousin, about what she told people, about Peter’s family life getting out, and it’s made Sirius sort of… shut down.

Everyone’s been quieter over the past week. Peter feels like they’re stuck, waiting for him to say something, to break the ice.

He shouldn’t _have_ to break the ice. They should be the ones thawing it.

They’re sitting in their usual spots around the fire, absently scratching out a sentence or two of a Charms essay every few minutes, when Peter decides he’s tired of this.

“Stop it,” he says, slightly louder than under his breath. He’d wanted it to come out louder. His voice had betrayed him.

Remus looks up. “Did you say something, Pete?”

He almost says _no_, almost lets the moment die. “Yeah,” he says instead, sitting up a little straighter on the sofa. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like what?” James asks, at the same time Sirius says, “Who are you talking to?”

“All of you. Like you have to be quiet around me.”

“I don’t act like that,” Remus replies, frowning. “I’d like to think I’ve been exceedingly normal.”

“Not you, you’re fine,” Peter says dismissively, the words rushing out like they’ve been waiting to be said. “Treating the subject like it’s taboo is a bit annoying, but it’s fine.” He pauses, catching a breath and gathering his thoughts.

His friends just watch him. With interest, with concern.

“Look,” he begins, “I’m just – I don’t like this. I don’t like how it feels right now. Sirius is too quiet.”

Sirius’ attention snaps to Peter at this. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

“How? How would it be your fault?”

“I don’t know, if we weren’t friends then you wouldn’t be a target.”

Peter is fucking flabbergasted at that. “A target? What is this, an assassination attempt? Are we in a dramatic film? Is this a royal court?”

“The same rules apply,” Sirius replies, jaw set. Fuck, this is the most Peter has heard him speak for days. “Shit happens and you find dirt on someone to distract from your own scandal.”

Peter had almost forgotten about what happened with Sirius’ cousin Andromeda over Christmas. Never in a million years would he have made the connection. However, this seems to be something that Sirius had thought of immediately.

“To be fair,” Remus counters, interrupting with an almost maddeningly even tone, “we don’t _know_ that Narcissa was the one who started the rumors, as Sirius has refused to speak to her and find out.”

“I don’t _want_ to, I know it was her, I don’t need to hear her say it. Besides, she probably wasn’t the one who found out, either her parents or mine told her to do this. She’s not _that_ creative.”

Peter throws his hands in the air. “Look, either way, it’s not your responsibility, is it? You’re not in charge of her actions. You’re not in charge of _any_ of your family’s actions, it wasn’t like you said anything to them or started this yourself, was it?”

He adds the question onto the end of his sentence as a throwaway bit, but something flickers behind Sirius’ eyes. _Oh_, he realizes.

Sirius has been quiet because he’s worried Peter doesn’t trust him anymore. He’s probably sure that Peter thinks he’s behind all this, that he said something that gave his family ammunition or that because he didn’t know and he didn’t stop it from happening that he’s to blame or that some form of carelessness and naivete is the root to this situation. Sirius has been _waiting_ for Peter to say something like this, not because he wants it, but because he expects it.

He thinks Peter is going to say that he doesn’t want to be friends with him anymore.

“No,” Sirius replies. His voice is controlled. Peter thinks in that moment he can see what James has mentioned a few times before; Sirius acts differently around certain people, in certain situations, when he’s with his family or when he has to put on airs befitting the oldest son of Orion and Walburga Black.

“It’s okay,” Peter says then, more to himself than to Sirius, but he thinks Sirius needs to hear it too.

“It’s not, really.”

“He said it was okay, Sirius, stop beating yourself up over it,” James says then, surprising Peter. “Would it make you feel better to go _ask_ Narcissa?”

“No,” Sirius repeats, but his voice is slightly less tense. “I don’t want to speak to her. We both know what happened.”

“Would it make you feel better if we went _with_ you? Or _for _you? We can be a formidable force.”

“Don’t make Pete do that,” Remus interjects, before anyone else can say anything. “He shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“Oh, then it’s just you and me, Remus? How chivalrous of us.”

“What? I don’t want to go talk to Narcissa.”

“Well, I can’t exactly do it by _myself_, how the fuck do you think that would look? Not formidable, I’ll tell you that.”

“She’s not going to be intimidated by _you_, James, you’re nice,” Sirius counters. “She won’t be intimidated by any of us, I can tell you that.”

“Well, either way, I think _someone_ should talk to her. Maybe we don’t have to talk about it amongst us. I think that makes people uncomfortable. Just because there are so many bad feelings around it,” James muses, rather wisely. Peter is almost surprised. “But Pete deserves the truth. He should know about what happened. I think it’ll help things go back to normal. And if we have to make Narcissa go bald or something to return the favor, well, then, that’s just something that’ll have to happen.”

James says the last bit so calmly and so smoothly that none of the other boys realize that he’s made that suggestion.

“That’s horrible,” Peter says after a beat, and James shrugs, a grin appearing on his face. “Fine, let’s do it.”

Remus groans loudly and slouches down so far in the armchair he’s currently occupying that he begins to slide down onto the floor.

“Excellent,” James replies, almost crowing, his eyes alight. “We should begin our planning now!”

“You’re going to get us killed with those ideas, James,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “Where’s the subtlety?”

James waves a hand through the air. “Subtlety is for adults with too much time on their hands. As a young hooligan with too much time on _my_ hands, I turn to elaborate, magically-based shenanigans to achieve my means.”

With that, it seems as though the studying has concluded for the night, as James pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment with a flourish and sets it on the table between the two armchairs and in front of the sofa, one of Peter’s pens hitting the wood beside it with a satisfying clack. With varying levels of reluctance, all the boys are drawn into a conversation about strategizing the conversation with Narcissa and the various paths they could end up on, depending on how it goes, coming up with at least four ideas for revenge and one and a half for peacemaking. The fire is warm and it’s easy again and Peter is laughing with his friends and he thinks maybe his worries were for nothing because it’s the first time he feels normal for a _while_ and for an afternoon, he can let himself forget what got them here.


	20. in which hands are held and furniture is shared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY IM SORRY THIS IS A REUPLOAD long story short the worst thing ever happened. i was working on my work laptop (professional, i know) and the document i sent to myself with what i thought was the most updated version of toaw in it apparently DIDNT have the updated version. it had like half of chapter 19 as the most recent part, so i kept writing off of it, because i'm an IDIOT. anyway i didn't realize until i uploaded it and my friend chloe (an angel) started to read it and was like uhhhhhhhhhhhhh something's not right here!
> 
> so basically. i had to rewrite it. i found the doc with the actually most updated version of toaw and incoroporated the scenes from the chapter that i wrote but had to take down and rewrite into it. i'm sorry if it's choppy, the last chapter was from pete's pov and incorporating that into a remus chapter is weird. i just really loved the scene i wrote and didn't want to leave it out. at the very least it's long!!! <3
> 
> SO. without further ado. here's the latest chapter. i will not make empty promises for a better uploading schedule. i will simply try my best. thank you for everyone who has stuck around <3 this chapter specifically is for chloe and lex who have waited so patiently for it. i love u my angels thank u for being patient with me and for encouraging me. <3
> 
> twitter - kaladinkholins  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

As though the fates or the gods or whoever controls the way things just seem to work out had heard them, breakfast opens with a commotion at the Slytherin table and is punctuated by Remus shaking open the _Daily Prophet_ and saying dryly, “Oh, congrats on your cousin’s engagement, Sirius.”

“My what?” Sirius asks around a mouthful of toast.

“Ew, Sirius, you spat on me!”

“Sorry, Pete.” He swallows. “My _what_?”

Remus looks at him with a mix of disdain and surprise. “You knew this was going to happen. Why are you acting like it’s a surprise?”

James cranes his neck to look at Remus’ newspaper, eyes widening at the size of the announcement. “I mean, it’s a bit of a shock that they took out half a page for this, but…”

“They _what_?” Sirius asks.

“Is that kind of sentence the only sort you’re capable of? Read it for yourself,” Remus replies, handing the paper across the table to Sirius.

The half-page spread had been a bit of a surprise; Remus is used to opening the _Daily Prophet_ and seeing typical wizarding news immediately inside, not an article about the Black family that ordinarily would’ve been reserved for somewhere closer to page 6. Sirius doesn’t seem to be remotely aware of his family’s presence in the news, but over the years of being his friend, Remus has come to the realization that their more notable antics – and even the completely unremarkable ones – are written down and sent out to the public as though they bear some importance in society. Sure, it’s generally limited to the high society functions put on by Sirius’ mother and aunt and their various friends, but sometimes photos are in the paper that’s just… the family on holiday. For the life of him Remus can’t figure out why people would care that much about a family whose only claim to fame is being old money.

Well, _Remus_ cares about what happens, but just because he’s friends with Sirius. And he only _barely_ cares. Honestly, it’s only when one of the group is directly affected.

Still, he can see why a semi-public presence like this has contributed to the absolutely incredulous way Sirius’ family has chosen to handle Andromeda’s (supposedly) bad choices. Hell, he thinks if he’d been raised surrounded by literal piles of gold and as though he was one of Merlin’s fucking chosen, maybe he’d be a little obsessed with reputation as well. He can’t imagine creating a smear campaign against the parents of one of his relative’s friends, but then again, he hasn’t had the life experience to sympathize completely with this decision-making.

“Oh, gross,” Sirius says, grimacing at the article. “They put in the family picture from the party this summer. I don’t know why they needed one of the _whole_ family, _I’m_ not engaged to Lucius Malfoy.”

“Imagine the scandal _that_ would be,” Peter says lightly.

James laughs, a loud quick burst. “Is that the picture I ran through?”

“Yeah, if you look closely you can see you peeking around the edges and trying to be a bad influence,” Sirius replies conversationally. “Oh, look, there’s a bit on the end by the writer – _I asked Mr. and Mrs. Cygnus Black about the announcement that ran in the Sunday Prophet regarding their middle daughter Andromeda and her surprisingly quick engagement and subsequent marriage to Ted Tonks. Mrs. Black rapidly changed the subject and I was given another cup of tea and shown more photos to choose from of Narcissa and Lucius for this article._ Well, this guy’s career is over.”

“It’s a bit unprofessional, but I don’t see why that would end his career,” James replies, leaning across the table to try and read the article at the same time. His tie dips into Peter’s cereal.

“Fuck, James, can you just wait your turn?” Peter nearly squawks, leaning backwards in an attempt to get out of range.

“No, we have to go soon,” James replies absently, reading. After a moment, he sits back down. “So, I don’t get it. What was the point of shitting on Pete and his parents if they were just going to do _this_ and not talk about Andromeda at all anyway?”

“Because,” Remus says, taking the _Prophet_ back from Sirius and ignoring his _hey_ of protest, “if people were talking about Pete’s parents they wouldn’t be talking about Andromeda, because it happened at the same time as her announcement. Now that _that’s_ over, they can announce about Narcissa and Lucius.”

“I don’t think it’s over,” Peter says, frowning. “I got tripped coming down the stairs this morning.”

“Who the fuck did that?” James asks sharply, immediately aggressive. “Sirius, where’s your Beater’s bat?”

“Locked in the Quidditch shed, what the hell are you planning to do with it? Bash someone’s knees in? This is exactly why they don’t let us have them at all times.”

“Well, either way, it’s officially over, technically,” Remus continues, as though James and Sirius hadn’t spoken and weren’t continuing to bicker lightly over the rules of Quidditch inventory. “Dumbledore made that stupid fucking speech at dinner last night about _tolerance_ and the news articles have all run, so the adults are going to consider the case closed. We still have our detention, but other than that, nothing’s going to come of it.”

More arguments break out at that, but as much as Remus hates that this is the truth, he’s absolutely certain that anything else that comes up surrounding Peter’s family and his mistreatment because of how they are is going to be swept under the rug. It’s shitty, but he’s theorizing that most of the Hogwarts staff are simply becoming tired of having to dole out punishments anyone picking on Peter. James thinks that this is because the teachers are finally deciding to let their little group start to fight back as a sort of vigilante strike force, like some sort of superhero team, but Remus knows better.

They’re just on their own, now.

He thinks that this realization may be what made Sirius decide that it’s time to approach Narcissa and ask once and for all if they’ve been right in their hypothesizing this whole time.

“I mean, she’ll probably be in a good mood, right?” Sirius says, rather hesitantly, sitting cross-legged on the end of Remus’ bed as they all discuss the game plan that night. He looks over to Remus as if for confirmation, as if Remus knows Narcissa anywhere near as well as Sirius does.

Remus shrugs. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

That seems like enough to reassure Sirius, who still seems like he doesn’t want to broach the subject with his cousin, but like he’s somewhat relieved that he hadn’t had to do it earlier today. Surprisingly, the day had flown by rather quickly, dominated by lessons and then by their detention afterward.

As Peter tells it, getting told that he didn’t have to go spend several hours doing trust falls or some stupid team-building shit with the same group of students who had nearly concussed him had done wonders for his emotional well-being. Because of this, when his friends had gone to suffer, he’d relegated himself to sitting in front of the fireplace and working on the joint-dreams-tracking project that he and James had been assigned in Divination.

That unfortunate name choice had been what Professor Shafiq had called it when she’d handed out the assignments with a breezy air and a proclamation that they could pick their own partners, as it should be someone they had an emotional connection with.

“That’ll make it easier for your dreams to connect,” she’d said. Peter and James had returned to the common room with _joint-dream-tracking project_ written in their rarely-used planners, and Remus had made jokes about weed that he had known weren’t that funny but had still made Sirius laugh, for some fucking reason.

In any case, Peter and James had come to the conclusion, when the project had been assigned a month ago, that their best possible chance of getting an O on it was to completely bullshit it. Sure, they’d tried to actually do the assignment once or twice – this had mainly consisted of sitting cross-legged in front of each other on James’ bed and holding each other’s faces between their hands, foreheads pressed together and eyes squeezed shut – but it hadn’t worked and their dreams had either been unremarkable or completely unrelated.

Despite the setback, Peter had sat himself in front of the fireplace in their usual spot at the beginning of the evening, going fairly undisturbed for several hours and putting together a stupid display that he and James are going to be forced to present next week. He couldn’t bring himself to question whether people didn’t bother him during his work because they knew that this spot in front of the fireplace belonged to him and his three best friends, or if they just didn’t want to talk to _him_, specifically.

Peter had had a sneaking suspicion that if James, Sirius, or Remus had been the ones sitting here by themselves, someone (a girl, probably) would’ve come up to them and tried to strike up a conversation.

Just as Peter had been thinking this – and almost resenting his friends for their hypothetical interactions with girls that he hadn’t had – his suspicions had been refuted by Marlene McKinnon suddenly flopping into James’ usual spot, the armchair.

“Hey,” she had said, as though this is something completely part of the ordinary.

“Hey…” Peter had replied after a moment, having frozen in the process of gluing one of James’ messily written accounts of a past dream onto the poster board. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Marlene had replied lightly. “I just didn’t want you to sit by yourself. The other girls didn’t want to bother you if you didn’t want company, but, you know, your friends have been at detention for a while.”

Peter had shrugged. “They should be back soon, but you’re welcome to stay if you want. They can come over too.”

“Cool,” Marlene had said, then waved in a sort of complicated, weird motion that Peter could only assume was a sort of secret signal between her and her friends. Sure enough, Dorcas, Lily, and Mary had made their way over directly following Marlene’s gesture and had proceeded to take up positions in the regular spots of Peter’s friends.

“Oh, are you doing the Divination project?” Mary had asked as she took the other armchair, Lily and Dorcas on the sofa. “I still have to meet up with my partner for that, we haven’t worked on it since the day after it was assigned.”

“Maybe you’d’ve had an easier time if _someone_,” Dorcas had said pointedly, turning to sit sideways on the sofa and lightly kick at Lily with a socked foot, “had decided to take Divination with us, instead of Care of Magical Fucking Creatures.”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with being completely uninterested in a bullshit class,” Lily had protested. “I happen to like C.O.M.C.” She says it like _comk_. Peter still found the abbreviation of the class title awkward, despite taking it himself. He and Lily aren’t in the same lesson, though, which he finds weirder.

“Yeah, but if we had an even number I wouldn’t have to pair with someone I don’t know,” Mary had replied. “I’ve spoken to Jonathan Boon exactly _once_ before this.”

“How’s that possible? We’ve been going to school together for three years, do you just not speak to Hufflepuffs?” Peter had asked, screwing on the cap to his bottle of glue.

Mary had looked bewildered. “I don’t know. It’s not like you talk to anyone outside of your friends, Pete, you barely even talk to us.”

“That’s not true,” he had countered, frowning. “We’re friends. I just live with the guys.”

“The _guys_,” Marlene had repeated, smirking.

“Shut up.” Peter had had the distinct impression that he was floundering through the conversation. “I thought you came over here to keep me company, not insult the number of friends I have.”

“Deepest apologies, Pete,” Dorcas had said, pointing at his poster board. “You missed a corner, it’s coming up there.”

It had been at this moment that Remus had come back into the common room after detention and had noticed Peter sitting on the floor with the girls around him.

“Clearly Pete’s not the only one who missed something,” he had said after taking stock of the situation. “Dorcas, you’re in my spot.”

“You’re the rudest person I know, Remus Lupin,” she had replied easily. “I don’t know why the teachers tolerate you. Sit between us, you’re skinny enough.”

Remus had sighed heavily and stepped around the other side of the sofa to sit between Dorcas and Lily as the former moved her legs off of the cushions. “How’s doing James’ work for him, Pete?” he had asked, leaning forward and craning his neck at an odd angle to look at the poster board.

“You don’t give him enough credit,” Peter had replied. “He’s doing the journal version. We have to have a copy to hand in to Shafiq. Which, I mean, you’d know if you’d taken Divination.”

Remus had waved a hand at that dismissively. “I think my brain would melt if I’d chosen that option.”

“Oh, you and me both,” Lily had replied. Remus had held his hand out flat and Lily lightly tapped it in a sort of subdued high-five.

“Does no one here understand the importance of an easy O?” James had interjected, appearing suddenly with Sirius a step behind him. “Some of us are thinking about how to coast.”

Instead of following the same trend that Remus had and objecting to their regular seats being filled, their two remaining best friends had taken additional, different approaches. Sirius had taken a seat on the floor, across from Peter, his back against the sofa directly in front of where Dorcas sits, cross-legged, with his shoulder slightly touching Remus’ leg. James, on the other hand, had wordlessly reached into his regular armchair and scooted Marlene to one side, proceeding to squeeze into the chair next to her. Neither of them had commented on either the action or the ensuing stares from the rest of the group, and Remus had almost felt that saying something would make it weirder than it actually was, despite Marlene’s left leg thrown over James’ right and his elbow resting on her thigh as though they’d been physically comfortable around each other for years.

“Huh,” Sirius had said, softly, but hadn’t elaborated. Neither had anyone else. He had cleared his throat, and said instead, “I don’t know about the importance of an easy O, JP, some of _us_ are smart enough to make most of our classes easy Os.”

James had narrowed his eyes at Sirius, then snatched the nearest thing he could manage to lay his hands on – Marlene’s watch, which he’d been fiddling with – and chucked it at Sirius’ head with the unsurprising accuracy of a Chaser. Sirius, similarly, had batted it aside without blinking an eye.

The watch went skidding across the room, clattering slightly on the floor. Everyone had looked after it.

“I’ll get it later,” Marlene had said in response to her lack of movement. “Anyway, how was the big detention? Did you have to kiss the Slytherins? That seems like something our genius-level administration here would come up with, a surefire way to stick it to homophobia.”

“I don’t think that would work,” James had replied, frowning.

Marlene had patted his hand gently. “I know, James, I wasn’t serious.”

“We had to like. Untangle a human knot or something,” Sirius had interrupted, answering the question. There had been a slight tinge to his cheeks. “They had us stand in a circle and grab someone’s hand across the circle and we had to untangle the knot without letting go of each other’s hands.”

“Aw, how romantic,” Dorcas had almost cooed, reaching forward and tugging one of Sirius’ curls. He had swatted her hand away. “Who’s hand did you get to hold?”

“Uh, Rosier’s. And Remus’, but that’s nothing special,” Sirius had replied.

“I’m affronted,” Remus had said, and there was only a grain of truth to that. He’d been mostly unbothered. He had wondered why he wasn’t _completely_, but had put the thought out of his mind after a few seconds.. “I would’ve thought that would be a special experience for anyone who had that opportunity.”

“I’ll have to compare my notes with Emmie Vance’s.”

“So,” Lily had interrupted, “is that the only thing you had to do?”

“They wouldn’t let us leave until we untangled,” James had replied, as though that explained everything.

“You were gone for two and a half hours,” Peter had said after a moment, rather incredulously. “It took you that long?”

“Some of us,” Sirius had explained, cutting a glance towards James to emphasize his point, “were sullen and refused to participate and then proceeded to call it _civil disobedience_.”

“Ha!” Marlene had said, pinching James’ cheek. “Nice.”

They’d headed upstairs and gone to bed after another two hours, far later than they should as they have lessons tomorrow. This leads them to where they are now, sitting together, legs crossed, just how James and Peter’s had been when they’d made their unsuccessful attempts to do their assignment properly.

“That was nice,” Peter says softly.

“It was,” Sirius says. “Pete…”

Peter looks over at him. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry this happened.”

“It’s not your fault, Sirius.”

Sirius shrugs. “It’s not _not_ my fault.”

“You’re stupid,” Peter replies, sighing. “Stop acting weird and it’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” James says, coming back from the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste, “you’re talking to Narcissa, right? What’s the plan with that?”

“Okay, first of all, the _plan_ should be to go spit out your toothpaste,” Remus counters. James grins at him toothily, looking rabid, and turns to head back to the sink. “Second, how hard can it be? You see your cousin, you go up to her, you talk to her. Easy. We’re there for support and to ask questions when you’re a pussy about it.”

“I’m not gonna be a pussy about it,” Sirius replies, brow furrowed. “I just don’t want to. Doesn’t mean I’m not _going_ to, but I don’t _want_ to.”

“Do you not want to because James threatened to make her bald?” Peter asks sympathetically. “I mean, I wouldn’t either.”

“You’re the nicest boy on the planet, Pete,” James calls from the bathroom, voice raised over the sound of running water and words slightly distorted from the toothpaste still in his mouth. Remus can hear him spitting, and then James continues, “Look, all I said was that if we find out that she _was_ responsible for spreading rumors here, _that’s_ when we take action. It’s just a concept at this point.”

For a concept, Remus thinks James’ plan to hex Narcissa Black so badly that she has to wear a wig at her wedding this summer is remarkably well thought out. He isn't going to dispute it, though; Sirius and Peter may find this course of action vindictive but this is one of the few times Remus can remember that he’s been in complete agreement with James over every step their path.

“So, it’s settled then,” he says, talking over his friends after a few more minutes of deliberation. “Tomorrow we make an attempt.”

“How hard can it be, right?” Sirius replies dryly, echoing Remus’ earlier statement.


	21. in which the v in vance stands for valentine's day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chloe and lex rights!!!!!!!! <3 my biggest supporters i love them. sachi if you ever read this you too could receive rights if only you supported me.......
> 
> also thank you to all my readers i love you <3 [kiss emoji] thank u for feeding my ego CONSTANTLY i need this validation
> 
> twitter - kaladinkholins  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

It turns out it can be extremely hard. _It_ being getting Narcissa alone and getting her to admit to what happened.

James doesn’t understand it. She’s surrounded by a thick gaggle of ardent admirers at literally every moment, which, to James, seems excessive. Why crowd around her now? Not only is she _mean_, for what happened to Peter, but she’s just _engaged._ There isn't really anything special about that. From what Sirius says, this sort of thing happens all the time in the fancy pureblood families.

The calendar has crept out of January and is edging through February, and as the fourteenth approaches, James is getting antsy. He has too much on his plate. In all honesty, he doesn’t think that his plan to make Narcissa have to wear a wig at her wedding is going to happen.

Peter keeps telling them that it’s okay if nothing comes of it, because things are dying down. People have pretty much forgotten that anything happened – he gets the occasional slur thrown at him in the halls, but it’s mostly greeted with lackluster response by the other students. Frankly, Peter isn't the hot gossip anymore.

James is grateful for this, really, it’s just. He doesn’t feel like it’s _right_ for things to just slide away like this.

At the same time, a small part of his brain also doesn’t think it’s right for him to be actively working to be so vindictive, but goddammit, he’s trying to be a good friend.

He thinks though that now, it might be easiest to try and be a good friend by making sure Peter has a nice time at something that’s turning into a sort of unofficial school event (“I would like to reiterate that this event is _not school-sanctioned_,” McGonagall has been sternly warning the students every time the subject comes up, while doing nothing to discourage them from attending) as the third year of it is rapidly approaching.

The invitations to Conor and Emmie Vance’s birthday party had appeared, one morning, on the nightstand of every student in their year, as well as on the nightstands of some select others in the years below and quite a few in the years above. As always, the party will be on the night of the fourteenth, but this year, instead of in the Great Hall or on one of the many grassy lawns of the grounds, there are some cryptic directions instructing the potential attendees to make their way to a corridor on the seventh floor at the appropriate time and… pace? While thinking?

“This doesn’t make any sense,” James says, poring over the invitation that same morning before an early Quidditch practice, sitting in the stands with Sirius leaning against the railing in front of him and watching the sun rise. “Why would we have to do this? There isn't even a door there.”

“What, you have the layout of the castle memorized?” Sirius asks, flipping his Beater’s bat back and forth in his right hand with a sort of spinning toss, grabbing a different end of it with every throw. “We’re never _on_ the seventh floor, maybe there’s a hidden door there or something.”

“Then what’s with the pacing?”

Sirius shrugs. “Maybe there’s a peephole. The door only opens from the inside and they have to make sure the right people are going by before they let anyone in.”

James pauses to consider this. “Okay, that’s fair. But what about the _thinking_?”

“I didn’t see that part. What do we have to think about?”

James frowns down at the invitation, reading it over again. “How much we want to get into the party.”

Sirius laughs at that, a short burst that breaks the silence of the misty morning and sends a puff of frosty breath out of his mouth. “That’s just an ego trip.”

“You would know.”

Sirius fakes throwing his Beater’s bat at James’ head, James raising his hands to cover his face in a position of mock fear.

“Potter! Black!” comes the sharp voice of M.G. McGonagall as she strides onto the pitch, broom over her shoulder and the light glinting off her Captain’s pin. “Are you just going to sit up there and cheer us on all morning?”

“It’s too early,” Sirius calls halfheartedly, but he and James are already making their way down to the pitch.

Over the course of their early morning practice, James learns that he and Sirius aren’t the only ones who had awoken with invitations on their nightstands – apparently the entire team had been added to the guest list.

“This has to have been Conor’s idea,” James theorizes as he and Sirius trudge back up to the castle, sweaty and disgruntled. Well, Sirius isn’t really either of those things, but James feels better looping him into the description.

“I mean, yeah,” Sirius replies easily. “I don’t think Emmie knows the names of everyone on our team. I doubt she even knows the names of everyone on her _own_ House’s team.”

The offhanded way he says that makes James frown slightly. “She might. She’s smart.”

“I know she’s smart. I just don’t think she cares enough about our team to know.” Sirius pauses. “Why do you think it was Conor’s idea? Other than the fact that he knows us better.”

“_Does_ he know us better? Emmie kissed Remus.”

Sirius waves a hand through the air. “Yeah, so has Pete.”

That had been during a game of truth or dare at Sirius’ birthday, when they’d all gotten drunk. James hadn’t been sure if he’d dreamed it or not, but apparently Sirius had also remembered it.

“In any case,” Sirius continues as they make their way inside, the faint sounds of the castle waking up starting to echo through the stone hallways, “Conor’s been nice to us. He probably wanted to invite us to be a good sport.”

“Or to find out our strategies,” James replies skeptically.

“Come _on_, James.”

“No, I’m serious,” James says. He’s thought about this in a fair amount of detail over the past two hours – running Quidditch drills can be mindless work. “Just watch. This is why he invited all of us.”

“Or he’s nice,” Sirius counters. “He’s just a nice person, James, not everyone is out to steal our strategies.”

“Okay, fine, but when we’re up against Ravenclaw in the finals and they can counter our every play flawlessly, you’re going to wish you had listened to me.”

Sirius isn't the only one who dismisses James’ suspicions. He tells Remus and Peter when they all meet up for breakfast – the latter complaining loudly about how they didn’t shower after their practice and instead came straight to the Great Hall – and is thoroughly ridiculed by everyone at the table. The general consensus is that the Vances are just being nice. James doesn’t agree, but he keeps silent until the night of the party approaches.

When the opportunity arises for James and his friends to be involved in night-based activities at Hogwarts – whether they’re small gatherings or sneaking into places they shouldn’t be or attending and/or throwing parties – there are always a few considerations that have to be made. The issues are always as follows: whether or not Remus will be able to come because of the moon (it was last week, it’s fine), whether or not the rest of the boys will still want to go without him (probably not, they’d get weird questions), whether or not the company of whatever they’ve had the opportunity to attend is worth it (sometimes), and last but certainly least, whether or not their lessons will be affected tomorrow.

James thinks Peter is the only one who thinks about the last one as they dress themselves in their various festive outfits and make their way to the seventh floor on a Thursday night for the Vance twins’ birthday party.

“Here’s the thing,” Sirius is reasoning, walking slightly ahead of everyone else as though he’s guiding a tour of the castle, “we’re all going to have to be up and in lessons at the same time tomorrow morning anyway. It’s solidarity. We’re all in it together.”

“What an opportunity for team-building,” Remus says dryly. “Dumbledore would be so proud of you for looking at it like that.”

Sirius, walking backward, sticks his tongue out at Remus but doesn’t retort further.

“Look, I’m just saying, if I fall asleep in History of Fucking Magic tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, you’re explaining it to Binns for me,” Peter replies.

They’ve made it to the corridor that they’re supposed to walk up and down three times. Remus says, “Like Binns would _care_,” at the same time that James says, “Blame stupid Conor for having his stupid party on a stupid Thursday instead of moving it by a day.”

“I don’t know why you don’t think Emmie is equally to blame for the poor party planning,” Sirius remarks conversationally as they begin their promenade. “They’re twins, they share the same brain.”

“Do you know how twins work? I’m genuinely asking.”

“I’m not stupid, Remus. Also, I’m fairly certain I know more about having siblings than you do, Mr. Only Child.”

“You’re the only one here who _isn't _an only child, you’re the odd one out.”

They turn at the end of the hallway.

“Do you think we’ll have to do more laps if we haven’t been intensely thinking about the party the whole time?” James muses.

“Fuck, I hope not, I don’t even want to do the three we’re supposed to,” Peter replies. “This is a long hallway.”

Apparently, whatever door is hidden in the wall with the ability to scan their brains and determine how hard they’re thinking about getting into the party – James is thinking pretty damn hard, he wants to see if he can unearth some secrets about Conor’s guest list plans – has gotten tired of them walking, because halfway through this second trip, just as they’re reaching the middle of the hall, a door appears and swings open.

“Oh, nice,” Remus says, stepping out of the way to avoid the edge whacking him in the face.

“I know, seeing me always is,” Marlene says from the other side of the now-open door.

“Did you see us passing and open up for us?” James asks. “Marley, you’re so sweet.”

“Don’t call me Marley,” Marlene replies, grimacing at the nickname. “My grandma calls me that. It’s horrendous. Anyway, no, I actually was leaving for a piss. Just go in.”

The party, surprisingly, is already quite full. The boys had had a discussion before leaving their room and had determined that it’s okay that they weren’t arriving at eight on the dot, despite Sirius’ irritation at anything less than punctual, because they’d be arriving _fashionably late_. To be fair, James had been the one who had cared the most about this, but the rest of his friends had gone along with it.

The whole point had been to receive attention when they’d entered the party, which they do, from their hosts, but not really from anyone else, which James feels somewhat deflated about.

“Oh! Hey!” comes Conor’s voice from across the rather large room (how had James never known about this? It has to be very well hidden. That, and he’s never on the seventh floor), a huge grin on his face. “Emmie, come over, we have more people here!”

“Hi Conor,” Sirius says when Conor reaches them. Out of the corner of his eye, James sees Remus cut a glance towards Sirius, as though he’d said something completely unacceptable.

Well, being nice to Conor Vance is somewhat unacceptable in itself, but James is willing to let that slide.

“Hi Sirius,” Conor replies, sounding genuinely pleased to see him, and proceeds to greet the other boys in a similar fashion. “Hi Peter, hi James, hi Remus. Thanks for coming to our party!”

Without Emmie there, it sounds like Conor is using the royal we. James decides that his birthday gift to Conor will be to not comment on how stupid it sounds.

As if in response to James’ thoughts, Conor continues, “I don’t know where Emmie is. Probably talking to people. But please come in, there are snacks and drinks there,” here he gestures vaguely to the wall to his left, “and the band should be here soon. Let me know if you need anything!”

With that, Conor disappears into the throng, presumably to play the host and check on all of his guests. James wonders vaguely if Lily is here.

Well. Marlene is, so he can only assume that all the girls came together.

“Let’s get a drink,” Sirius says, scanning the room as though he’s looking for someone too.

James thinks absently about Lily as he and his friends head over to the refreshments table. He thinks… he hasn’t actively thought about her for a while. He wonders why that is. James has always thought that she’s pretty, that he’d _like_ to talk to her more, that maybe now that they’re allowed to do more things and go more places that he could ask her to go with him on a Hogsmeade day. Maybe. He doesn’t know how successful he’d be.

But she’s always busy and _he’s_ always busy and he doesn’t think she’s very interested in him.

This is discouraging. He likes her.

They get their drinks and see Dorcas and Mary and James asks if Lily is there (“Yeah, but she’s talking to that idiot,” Dorcas replies, and James knows she’s talking about Snape) and James decides not to talk to her. Not unless they run into each other.

The band comes out. James doesn’t really know any of the songs they play, and he doesn’t have anyone to dance with other than his friends, and the punch is definitely not spiked (he isn't surprised, Conor’s a square), but they have a good time anyway.

It’s about two hours later when James and his friends are all leaning against a wall, catching their breath after a fast song that had involved a lot of jumping and spinning and generally endangering the people around them, when something interesting starts to happen.

“How did they invite all these people?” Remus wonders aloud, watching the crowd of students. “I didn’t think they were close with this many people.”

“I mean, Sirius invited the whole school to his party, pretty much.”

“Yeah, Pete, I get that, but don’t they just hang out with each other and Val Carr?”

“Val’s a Slytherin,” James remarks offhandedly.

“Yeah, we know, stellar observational skills, JP,” Sirius replies, laughing. “Thanks for telling us, it isn't like we’ve known each other for three years.”

James frowns. Then, realizing something, he repeats, “Val’s a _Slytherin_.”

“Are you dense?” Peter asks. “Am I having a stroke? Did you not just say that?”

“No, I mean –” James cuts himself off. The thought he’d had was half formed, and still hasn’t fully settled into something solid enough to articulate.

“Take your time,” Remus says, only half encouragingly.

“We could ask her if she’s heard anything about what happened with Pete,” James finally says. “I mean. I know everyone’s _heard_ about what happened with Pete, but I mean. Information that we were missing.”

“Do you think all Slytherins are friends?” Sirius asks. “Like, they all sit together in front of the fire at the end of a long day and discuss the relevant topics? They don’t have a hive mind, James. If they did, we could just ask my brother.”

“Your _brother_!” James says suddenly, snapping his fingers. “I can’t believe we forgot about him!”

“I didn’t,” Sirius replies, looking bewildered. “We eat lunch together every Saturday. Did none of you notice?”

“Not you, Sirius,” James says dismissively. “I meant me and the rest of the Only Children. We could’ve asked Regulus the whole time.”

“The _rest of the Only Children_?” Peter asks incredulously, but he seems to be the only one surprised by that description.

“What makes you think Regulus knows anything more than I do?”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s the new favorite.”

“I’m a Gryffindor, Remus, I’m not dead.”

“Look, either way,” Peter says, cutting everyone off, “I don’t think talking to Regulus would do anything. He’s a first year, he probably didn’t even know anything was happening. So if we’re going to talk to anyone who would, you know, be actually willing to help out, it would probably be Val.”

“Speak of the devil,” James says as Val walks by, a drink in her hand. “Hey, Val! Come here!”

“Excuse me?” she asks, turning, voice sharp.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you. Please come over and have a conversation with me. If you would like to,” James amends, stepping away from the wall and walking forward to meet her where she’s stopped. “I have a question for you.”

Val sighs, audible even over the sounds of teenagers and a band reverberating through the room. “What is it, Potter?”

“You know Narcissa Black?”

Val rolls her eyes. “Not personally, but yes, I know _of_ her, everyone does.”

“Do you know if she started the rumors about Peter’s parents?”

She blinks in surprise. “Wow, subtlety is not your strong suit. You’re really cutting right to the point, aren’t you?”

James shrugs. “I’m a busy man. I have things to do. People to make bald. You know the drill.”

“You know what, I’m not even going to ask you to elaborate on that,” Val replies, but she almost unconsciously reaches up to twist a lock of her curly red hair around a finger. “Here’s the answer. I don’t know, but I can probably ask some people and find out.”

“Oh!” James is fucking delighted. He turns around to glance at his friends, grinning. Sirius gives him an equally sunny smile and a thumbs-up. Turning back to Val, he continues, “Thanks!”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it,” Val replies easily. After a beat, she says, “Here’s the thing. I’m going out of my way to do this, so like, I’m gonna need something from you in return.”

James narrows his eyes. He should’ve known. “Of course,” he replies carefully. “A favor for a favor.”

“I don’t know what it is yet,” she continues. “Emmie likes you. Maybe take her out.”

“How is that a favor for you? And I thought she liked Remus.”

Val shrugs. “She’s like summer weather. Fucking changeable. Either way, she’s sort of cooled off on Remus after what happened at Sirius’ party.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You could take her out next weekend. Hogsmeade trip. You know the drill.”

“Oh,” James says again. Is that the only thing he can think of to say? He feels stupid. There’s a warming in his cheeks and a twisting in his stomach that sure isn't bad, but he doesn’t know what to do about it or why it’s happening. “Okay. I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“Nice,” Val says nonchalantly, as though they’d just struck a business deal. “Be good to her.”

James frowns. He’s lightly insulted that Val would think that he _wouldn’t_ be good to Emmie. Yes, he feels lightly guilty about this – he’s just agreed to taking Emmie Vance on a date (not that he’d ever have a problem with it, he just thinks he wouldn’t have thought of it himself) to get her best friend to dig up some information about who wronged one of _his_ best friends. But just because it’s a dubious beginning doesn’t mean he’ll be anything but nice to her.

He doesn’t think anything will come of it, but at the very least, they can have a nice time.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks Val.

She sighs again, only slightly less loudly. Then, as though this explains her thought process, she says, “You’re a boy.”

“I know that,” he replies, confused.

Val pats him on the shoulder. “Look, do your thing and I’ll do mine. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says slowly, but she’s already walking off and disappearing into the crowd.

“So?” Remus says after a moment. It takes James until then to realize that his friends had walked forward to meet him where he’s been standing, and he jumps at the sudden sound of a voice so close to him.

“Shit! You scared me. And Val’s going to look into it. On my end, I have to ask Emmie Vance to go on a Hogsmeade date with me next weekend.”

“Oh?” Sirius says, grinning. “Nice. Our little boy is growing up so fast.”

“Shut up. I said I would talk to her tonight, so…” James shrugs. “I gotta go find her.”

“Do you _want_ to go on a date with her?” Remus asks, frowning.

“I mean, I don’t _not_ want to, I feel kind of bad for doing it like this. And I don’t… _like_ her, you know? But also I don’t really know her. Why?”

Remus shrugs, a casual motion that seems to be a motif of tonight. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

“Are _you_ okay with it?” Sirius asks, a slight edge to his voice that James can’t quite figure out.

“It doesn’t matter to me. It’s for Pete, anyway.”

Pete raises his hands in a sort of defensive gesture. “Please don’t look at me, I said it was fine to let it go, but James, king of the moral compass, refuses to leave it as is.”

“Because it’s not _right_,” James says, but lets his voice trail off. He’s said it so many times. His friends know how he feels about this. He pauses, then clears his throat. “Anyway. I have to go find Emmie.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Peter asks teasingly.

“Shut up,” James replies easily. He takes a deep breath, then sets off on his quest.


	22. in which james' self confidence rides a rollercoaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friends insult me constantly and yet i did this for them. posting 2 chapters today. this is the first one.
> 
> twitter - kaladinkholins  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

James had never asked out a girl before.

Not that he’d admit it, of course. He thinks his friends already knew that, but it wasn’t like they’d _talk_ about it.

That being said, asking Emmie Vance to go on a date with him had been surprisingly easy.

He’d headed off through the crowd at the party to find Emmie with a surprising amount of confidence, which he’d been genuinely shocked at, considering he hadn’t truly done anything of significance without his friends for three years. Emmie had been talking to someone James doesn’t know, he thinks it’s a boy from their Divination class, but she’d caught his eye as he’d approached and had wrapped up her conversation.

“Hi,” he’d said. He hadn’t known how else to start it.

“Hi, James,” she’d replied. Her cheeks were rosy, James still doesn’t know if it was because of dancing or makeup or talking to him, but she had looked nice.

“Did you cut your hair?” he’d asked. He had no idea what made him say that, he’d just been looking at her and had thought it and it had come out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Emmie had said, reaching up to touch it. The blonde curls were shorter, cut to just under her chin, and he hadn’t thought they were naturally curly, but he had respected that she had put in the effort to make them look like they were. “Yeah, I did, I didn’t think you would notice.”

“I like it,” he had said. “Happy birthday, by the way. I haven’t seen you tonight so I didn’t say.”

“That’s okay,” she had replied, and her smile had shifted into one that was softer, more affectionate. “Thank you for coming.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it,” James had replied. He hadn’t been able to think of what to say after that – to be honest, he hadn’t thought out much of this at all. He had kicked one foot absently, just to keep moving, shoved his hands in his pockets, then continued, “I, uh, I couldn’t think of what to get you.”

“That’s okay,” Emmie had said again, and James had felt slightly guilty over the way she had looked at him there. “No one had to get us anything. Least of all you, I know you and Conor don’t get along all the time, but it’s nice that you came. You’ve always been nice to _me_, at least.”

“Well, yeah,” James had replied. Then, before losing his nerve, “Look, I was thinking that maybe since I didn’t get you anything for your birthday maybe you’d like to, um. To go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend. I don’t really have any plans but I think it would be nice –”

“Yes, of course,” Emmie had interrupted him, looking like he had just made her night, and James had felt his stomach jump.

Now, a week later, the nerves that James had managed to avoid when actually talking to Emmie at the party are coming in full force, as though in vengeance for being ignored previously.

“Do you think she’ll like me?” James asks on Friday afternoon.

“Doesn’t she already?” Peter replies.

They’re sitting outside. James doesn’t know what time it is, just that they’re under the tree by the lake and they’ve finished with lessons for the day and the hours until he’s going to have to maintain a conversation with a girl and be a good date and make sure she has a nice time and _be good to her_ as Val said is rapidly approaching the single digits.

He’s worried about the date. He’s not ashamed to admit that. James thinks this is mostly because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but there’s also the bit of him that feels intensely guilty for agreeing to this because he didn’t go into it thinking of it himself.

He thinks he could like Emmie. He very well might, after tomorrow. He just… he hopes that she never finds out that Val asked him to take her out. James is fairly certain that everyone involved would know that the entire process was well-intentioned, but he doesn’t really know what he would do if Emmie learned that he hadn’t gone to speak with her entirely of his own accord.

To be fair, James could’ve said no and asked Val to come up with another favor for him to do for her. Maybe he should’ve. But he’d _wanted_ to go ask Emmie out.

James isn't entirely sure if he’d wanted that because it was thrilling to learn that a girl had actually had a crush on him – because it isn't like the girl he’s liked for a fucking _while_ has been showing any interest in him, or that she’s ever likely to – or if it had simply because he thinks Emmie is pretty.

She _is_ pretty. That’s part of why he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” he says, finally answering Peter’s question. “It’s so much pressure. I’m nervous.”

“Just be yourself,” Remus replies, completely unconcerned by James’ worries. “You’re funny, you’re good at Quidditch, you’re a nice person, and you’re nice looking. You’ll be fine.”

James stares at Remus for a moment before replying, “That’s the most detailed nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Remus flicks a blade of grass at him. “Don’t get used to it.”

“You know…” James says slowly after a moment, “you could continue to be nice to me.”

“I could, certainly. But will I? That’s another question entirely.”

“Probably not,” Sirius says, chiming in for the first time in a while.

Remus points at him. “Exactly. Sirius gets it.”

James shrugs. “You’re nice when there’s something you need.”

“Isn't that just being manipulative?” Peter muses.

“No, that’s being smart,” Remus replies. “And I resent James’ description of me. I’m nice quite frequently. Just because I’m not always nice to _you_ doesn’t mean I’m not nice to _anyone_.”

Peter laughs. “You’re only nice to people you don’t actually like.”

“Which brings me back to my point,” James interrupts, anxious to get the conversation back on track. “I would be less nervous if someone came with me tomorrow. In like, a double date situation.”

“And you think _Remus_ is the best choice for that? Have you lost your mind?” Sirius asks incredulously. “Look, aside from the whole conversation we _just_ had about niceness, he also has a history with Emmie. Is that water under the bridge? Will it make the entire thing blow up? Who the _fuck_ is going to be his date?”

“Val, obviously,” James replies. “She’s Emmie’s friend, so I would get to bring one of my friends.”

“And you didn’t think about _me_?”

“Hey, I was left out too,” Peter says mildly, though he doesn’t seem nearly as bothered as Sirius.

To be fair, James thinks Sirius is only bothered because this means he wasn’t James’ first choice, and guilty as James feels about this, he also thinks that Remus is probably the most _logical_ decision.

“I can explain,” James says, sitting up straighter as though he’s about to give a presentation on the topic. Sirius, with his back leaning against the trunk of the big tree, raises an eyebrow skeptically. “I had to eliminate you because I don’t think Val likes you very much and I eliminated Pete because I don’t think he would be mean enough for her.”

“I could be mean,” Peter replies offhandedly, seeming to be advocating for himself simply for appearances but without any real desire to be involved, while Sirius nearly squawks, “She doesn’t _like_ me very much? Why the fuck not? I’m _so _likable.”

“I don’t know, maybe because you take it personally when people don’t think you’re the pinnacle of human evolution,” Remus says dryly. “And I don’t think she _sincerely_ dislikes you, I think she likes to make fun of you and you take it personally.”

Sirius crosses his arms in an almost petulant manner but says nothing.

“Me, on the other hand,” Remus continues, “I mean, I don’t know her very well, I don’t think we’ve even spoken, but at least I’m not going to get pissy when she’s rude.”

“So, you’ll go?” James asks, genuinely shocked that he’s made any traction at all with this proposal.

“I’ll think about it,” Remus replies. “I don’t particularly _want_ to, but you know. Helping a friend in need and all. It would probably be the least shit that it possibly could be if it’s me, out of your three options.”

Trying to contain his mounting excitement, which is rapidly overtaking his nerves, James says, “You sound like you’re talking yourself into it.”

“I’m not,” Remus answers. “If Val says yes and Emmie says yes, I’ll go. But I’m not arranging anything. This is your idea.”

“_Nice_,” James says, somewhat relieved. “I’ll see what I can do.”

What James can do turns out to be surprisingly easy. He waltzes up to the stone half-wall where the little group of the people he needs to talk to are sitting – and Conor, but James supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Conor is there too – a few minutes after nailing down the details of how to approach the situation with his friends.

“Hey,” he says, rather airily, “how are you?”

“Fine,” Val says, sitting on the half-wall and poking gently at a caterpillar making its way across the rocks. “Anything you need in particular, James?”

“Don’t be rude,” Emmie and Conor reply at the same time, Emmie cutting Val a glance that clearly means _be nice_ while nudging her with her elbow and Conor using an affronted tone that indicates that if he’d spoken first, he would’ve replied in a different manner.

James is pretty sure that Emmie’s reaction is because she thinks James is cute and is looking forward to going on a date with him tomorrow, whereas Conor’s is probably because he’s (regrettably) a genuinely nice person, despite deep rivalry that James has to breathe life into every time they speak to each other.

It can be irritating that Conor steadfastly refuses to treat their relationship with the competitive spirit that it deserves, but sometimes, like today, James isn't too bothered by it.

“Thank you,” James says, “you’re very nice.”

“I try,” Emmie replies, and James feels a weird little twist in his chest area at the way she looks at him. “Did you want to talk to me about tomorrow?”

“Um, sort of,” he says, reaching up and mussing his hair as though it’ll give him something to do with his hands. “I just. I have a sort of weird question. For you and Val.”

“No,” Val says, not looking up from her notebook, where she’s now begun to sketch the caterpillar.

“I haven’t even asked anything yet.”

“I have an inkling of what you’re going to say. No.”

“I don’t think he’s going to ask about _that_, Val,” Emmie says, glancing at James in an almost embarrassed manner.

“You don’t think he’s going to ask about _what_ – oh.” Conor seems to realize exactly what his friend and sister are talking about halfway through his sentence and cuts himself off with a laugh.

“What?” James asks, completely nonplussed. “I was just going to ask if Val wanted to come and maybe I could ask one of my friends to be her date because I’m nervous and maybe it’ll go better if I’m more comfortable.”

In hindsight, James doesn’t think it was the smoothest or best idea for him to just blurt out every thought he has about the subject, but he’s caught off guard by Val’s cryptic attitude and Conor’s casual air and how pretty he’s realizing Emmie is and so he makes a fool of himself.

“Oh,” Val says sitting up straighter and actually turning to look at him. “That isn't at all what I thought you’d say. I mean, that’s fine with me if it’s fine with Emmie. Do I get to pick which one of your friends it is?”

“Yes?” James replies, stretching the word out into a question because he honestly hadn’t thought she’d want to choose her date for herself. She’d chosen his, after all.

“Cool,” Val replies. “Em, are you okay with this?”

Emmie shrugs, looking up at James. Instead of answering Val, “You’re really nervous to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah,” James replies, somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve never been on a date before, much less with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Gross,” Conor interrupts. “I’m so glad you didn’t suggest that I should come, I don’t want to watch this for hours at a time.”

“Pray for me, Con, I don’t know how I’m gonna do this,” Val replies. “Answer the question, Emmeline.”

“Well, yeah, I’m okay with it, I want James to have a good time,” Emmie replies. James lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good, I thought you’d be mad.”

“No, of course not,” Emmie says, and he knows she means it from the way she smiles at him.

“Great,” Val interrupts. “Conor’s right, going on a date with the two of you is going to be torture, so I’m picking someone who can make fun of you as well as I can. Remus seems like the meanest out of all of your friends, he’s always punching people. Does that get the stamp of approval from everyone? James never said if anyone was off-limits.”

“No one’s off-limits, just as long as Emmie’s okay with it,” James says hastily.

“We kissed once, I used to like him, it’s not a big deal anymore,” Emmie replies easily. “Let’s do it then.”

“Cool,” James says, feeling substantially less nervous about the whole situation. He doesn’t know if it’s because he and Emmie won’t be completely alone tomorrow on their date or if it’s because now he’s gotten another whole conversation with her successfully under his belt or if it’s because he’s finding himself looking forward to tomorrow more than he thought he would, his excitement outweighing his anxiety, but either way, a weight has been completely lifted out of the pit of his stomach.


	23. in which remus gets a fun hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2/2 for today. i was on A ROLL!!!!!! ur welcome <3
> 
> twitter - kaladinkholins  
instagram - emmakmarie  
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Saturday morning dawns. Hogsmeade events don’t start until after breakfast, with no one heading down to the village until half ten at the earliest, so the early morning, as usual, is filled with Quidditch and showers and running down to breakfast before they miss all the good things.

The difference between this Saturday and most other Saturdays that they’ve had this year is that James literally will not stop moving or talking or fucking fidgeting and it’s driving Sirius up the wall. James is the entire _reason_ why they have to sprint down to the Great Hall before everything is gone – to be fair, Sirius doesn’t really know if things would truly disappear, part of him thinks that the house elves would just keep making things as long as people were eating them, but he doesn’t want to take his chances – because he holds up the getting showered and dressed process for an extra half hour by trying on millions of outfits and modeling them for Sirius before allowing either of them to go downstairs.

Sirius likes to think that he’s a good friend. In fact, he _knows_ he’s a good friend. That doesn’t mean he has infinite patience, though.

“James,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand as though he’s one of their exasperated teachers in the midst of a midlife crisis, “this is the fourth time you’ve shown me this exact combination. You look great. Can we please go downstairs?”

“I have _not_ shown you this exact combination before,” James replies, sounding disappointed. “I changed my socks.”

“Emmie’s not going to be looking at your _socks_, James! She’s not going to care!”

“She might!”

“Well, I don’t! I wouldn’t notice what socks you were wearing if I went on a date with you! I wouldn’t notice what socks _anyone_ was wearing if I went on a date with them!”

“Okay, but you’re not the one going on a date with me,” James replies, crossing his arms. “She might care.”

Sirius groans in exasperation. “Wait here.”

“What?”

“Just _wait_,” he insists, walking out of the door to the boys’ dorm and heading down the stairs two at a time to look into the common room. James, for all Sirius’ insistence on waiting, only waits for Sirius to take a few steps before following him. “Hey, Marlene, are you still there? I need your help.”

“What?” comes her voice from the other side of the common room, right by the door. “Can it wait?”

“No, it cannot,” Sirius replies, “because if I have to deal with this for even a second longer I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Can you please come out here and tell James whether or not a girl he’s on a date with is going to care what socks he’s wearing?”

“_What_?” There’s a pause, a few sounds of light banging and scraping, and then Marlene appears, climbing backwards through the portrait hole that she was clearly about to leave through, her hair still wet from a shower. “James, come here. Show me your socks.”

He obliges, lifting up the leg of his jeans so she can see exactly what he’s working with.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” James repeats, somewhat nervously.

“Are there any holes in them? Are you planning on taking off your shoes at all?”

“No and no,” James replies, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Then she’s not going to care,” Marlene says. “Trust me, I’m a girl. I wouldn’t care what socks you were wearing as long as they’re not gross.”

“That’s what I said,” Sirius replies, turning to look pointedly at James, “and he ignored my advice.”

“Sirius is smart. Listen to him every once in a while.”

“Did he pay you to say that?” James asks skeptically.

“I don’t need bribes to be nice,” Marlene says, scoffing. “I’m just a genuinely wonderful person.” She disappears to leave through the portrait hole again, after a hasty, “Have fun on your date, James.”

“Okay, great,” Sirius says. “So can we go now?”

“I guess,” James answers, though he still looks somewhat apprehensive about it. Sirius suspects that he’s just been trying to come up with excuses to stall, despite the fact that he’s clearly more excited than nervous. “If this goes badly because of my socks, though, I’m blaming you and Marlene. How did you know she’d be in the dorm anyway? She’s the only one, I think.”

Sirius shrugs. “She was doing laps around the pitch while we were at Quidditch. I figured we were on the same schedule.”

“Ooh, how observant,” James replies in a somewhat cooing, teasing tone. “Someone’s paying attention.”

“Yeah, that’s what friends do,” Sirius replies. He knows what James is getting at, but he doesn’t like Marlene like that. However, knowing James, if he denies it, James will continue teasing him about it for the rest of his life. Or at least until Sirius shows interest in someone else.

He doesn’t really have an interest in someone else though. At least, if it’s supposed to be like how James is around the girls that he’s liked over the time that Sirius has known him, Sirius hasn’t experienced that yet.

He vaguely wonders if it’s a problem that he hasn’t, but he doesn’t think about it too deeply.

They head down to the Great Hall, starting to run when they realize that breakfast is going to be closing soon after a glance at where the Bludger hand is on James’ watch, finally managing to skid into place next to their friends a few minutes before all the food on the large platters is set to begin vanishing.

“What took you so long?” Peter asks, straightening back up after being knocked slightly over by Sirius swinging into his spot next to him. “You’ve been done with practice for like an hour and a half.”

“Ask this one,” Sirius replies, pointing at James with a coffee stirrer. “He held me up for thirty full minutes talking about his _socks_.”

“I wanted to look nice, is that a crime?” James asks, sounding affronted. “It’s clear to me that I’m the only one at this table who decided to put in any effort.”

Remus glances down at his (extremely ordinary) attire. “Is there something wrong with how I dressed?”

“You look homeless.”

“Hey,” Remus replies in a slightly offended tone. “I do not.”

“Well, you look like you don’t care.”

“That’s not equivalent to being homeless.”

“There’s a hole in your shirt.”

“You’re the one who ripped it!”

“Look, I don’t want to show up and have the girls think we don’t care about how this is going to go,” James replies, stabbing at a pancake. “Because I _do_ care.”

Remus sighs, rolling his eyes. “Do you want me to ask? I’ll ask Val, she’s just as invested – or rather, not invested – as I am. We’re there to keep you company, it’s not a real date for us.”

“No, don’t _ask_ her!” James says hurriedly. “It’s fine, I just. I’m worried.”

“You don’t have to be worried,” Remus replies, patting the shoulder of James’ that’s right next to him in an uncharacteristically comforting motion, “I’ll be with you.”

Sirius is honestly surprised at the effectiveness of that response, because it seems to settle James down until they leave the table.

They split up in the entrance hall, James waving to Sirius and Peter over his shoulder before heading with a surprisingly brisk walk over to where Emmie and Val are waiting, Remus easily keeping pace with his long legs. After a brief moment of conversation, the two sets of friends – or _couples_, Sirius supposes, which is weird to think about, _are_ they couples? – head out the doors of the castle.

“So,” says a voice behind Sirius, and he jumps. “Looks like we’re all missing members of our regular group today.”

“Fuck, Conor, you scared the shit out of me!” Peter says, voicing exactly how Sirius feels. “How the fuck did you walk up so quietly?”

Conor grins at them, all dimples and freckles, and Sirius is impressed at how nice his teeth are. “It’s a talent of mine. Do you guys want to go to the Three Broomsticks today? I’ll buy. I normally do, but my sister and my best friend are on a date with your friends, so I lost the two extra butterbeers that normally come out of my wallet.”

“Yeah,” Sirius replies, having no idea why the fuck that word came out of his mouth so quickly. “Yeah,” he repeats, with a bit more composure. “But you don’t have to buy, we can get it ourselves. Save it for a girl or something.”

“Which girl is Vance buying for?” comes another voice, and Sirius looks back towards the Great Hall to see Dorcas approaching, breaking away from her friend group. “Also, can I volunteer for that position?”

“You don’t need Conor to buy for you, Dorcas, we summer together, I know exactly how much pocket money your parents give you every time you go home.”

“You and I both know that, Sirius, but it would be so gentlemanly of Conor to foot the bill,” Dorcas replies. “I’m kidding, of course. Unless you’re absolutely dying to.”

Conor laughs. “Sure, why not. Are your friends coming?”

Dorcas shouts at her friends, who are still hanging around the end of the Gryffindor table. Marlene shouts something nearly unintelligible in response while Lily gives them a thumbs-up.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Conor says, then waves at the rest of the girls so they can all start walking down to Hogsmeade together.

Farther down the path to Hogsmeade, a small group of double daters are just reaching the village.

Things are going surprisingly well, Remus has decided. He hadn’t really expected anything to go _badly_, at least not on his end, but he and Val have been conversing lightly and James seems to be having a nice time with Emmie. They’re walking a bit ahead of Remus and Val, and Emmie keeps brushing James’ arm with her elbow, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket.

Val silently points at this the fourth time it happens, looking at Remus with an expression that says _can you believe this_.

He raises his eyebrows at her to say _absolutely_.

James’ plan, that he’d concocted last night after looking at a map of the shops of Hogsmeade, had been to find the shop with the weirdest potential and have everyone go in and pick something out for their date that they think they’d like. He’d set a time limit on them of fifteen minutes, like he was giving them a quiz, and they’d all set off after he’d counted off the time on his watch.

Now, Remus finds himself rifling through the shelves of an antique shop, on the receiving end of a dirty glare from the shop’s owner, a wizened old witch who looks as though she’s been sitting on the other side of the counter for as long as the oldest piece of merchandise has been on the market (1837, Remus is guessing, but he hasn’t looked at the dates on everything in the shop yet), and he has no idea what to pick out for Val.

“Emmie, help me out,” he hisses he sees her on the other side of the aisle he’s in, peering through an ancient looking spyglass thing. “You’re her best friend, what do I get?”

“Figure it out yourself, genius,” Emmie replies lightly, collapsing the spyglass with a satisfying click and heading up to the counter to pay for it.

“Fuck,” Remus says under his breath, and resumes spinning the jewelry display that he’d been rifling through.

“Thirty seconds left!” James shouts wildly, then is immediately hushed by the only other patron of the store and the owner. “What? This isn't a library.”

Remus looks around, grimacing at his lack of luck – he’s never been gladder of the fact that this is _not_ a real date than it is now, and sees something on the other side of the aisle that catches his eye. Sure, he has no idea if Val will like it or not, but it isn't _awful_.

He goes up to pay, with James tapping his foot at the counter and looking at his watch. James clucks like a disappointed P.E. teacher and says chidingly, “Cutting it a little close there, Mr. Lupin, we all finished with time to spare.”

“Shut up, you sprang this thing on me,” Remus replies.

“That’s not an excuse, I still managed to find something for you,” Val says, holding a large paper bag. Remus is almost afraid of what might be inside. That feeling goes from _almost_ to _definitely_ when Val laughs in a way that could be categorized as a fucking cackle and continues, “I think it’s perfect!”

“No hinting!” James interrupts, stepping between where Remus and Val are standing, as though he can block their view of each other. “We’re going to go get coffee and then unwrap them at the table. Madam, if you wouldn’t mind finishing up the tying of that twine, we have plans to get a good table before anyone else goes over.”

The old lady simply glares at him and mutters under her breath about the rudeness of teenagers, not altering her pace at all.

After what feels like an age, Remus’ gift for Val is wrapped up and tucked under his arm as they head out of the shop and deeper into the heart of the village, following the plans that James has laid out for them.

“I don’t know why she was so rude to me,” James is saying to Emmie, again a few paces in front of Remus and Val. “And she said _I _was the rude one! After I brought four customers into her shop.”

“I think you were perfectly nice,” Emmie says. Her hand, out of her pocket, deliberately brushes against James’ in a way that makes Remus roll his eyes.

James pauses, for a minute, then says, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Of course,” Emmie says, blushing.

“Oh my god,” Val says under her breath.

Remus laughs, the sound coming out embarrassingly loudly solely because of the effort he’s been expending in keeping it inside.

Val turns to him, face alight, and says, deliberately loudly, “Remus, you’ve been carefully touching the back of my hand with yours for the entire day so far! I’ve decided that I can’t take the suspense anymore – would you do me the express honor of placing your gross, disgusting, giant boy hand in my delicate, tiny, little girl one? Intertwine your fingers with mine as we near having to cross the street! I don’t want to get lost!”

He can’t stop laughing at this point, but he decides to play along, replying, “My darling Valentina, I’d be _honored_,” and taking her hand in his. By this point, Emmie and James have started booing them, still holding hands, and Remus stokes their light irritation further by swinging their linked hands as they walk and dramatically stepping in front of everyone else when they get to James’ chosen destination (not the ugly tea shop across the road, but a coffee shop connected to a little library) to hold open the door for Val with a flourishing bow.

Remus stands by what he said before. Things are going surprisingly well.

Across town, at a large table in the Three Broomsticks, Conor Vance is racking up quite the bill.

Peter almost feels badly for him. Clearly, he’s too nice to rescind his offer of paying for everyone’s drinks in the absence of his regular group of friends. But then he remembers how _loaded_ the Vances are, judging from their annual birthday celebrations, and he feels less bad.

Peter is sitting between Sirius and Mary, close to one of the windows facing the street, which he rather likes. Peter thinks that most people coming to the Three Broomsticks prefer tables further in the middle to the back of the tavern, hoping to be swallowed by the warm, smoky environment and the hazy atmosphere.

Peter, however, likes looking out the window. He likes seeing people pass by. He likes being able to see people out and about as part of their daily lives. He doesn’t know why. He thinks it’s relaxing.

Not that it isn't relaxing sitting with (most of) his friends at a table in Hogsmeade with their newest initiate footing the bill. That’s how Peter, over the course of the day, has come to think of Conor – it’s like he’s almost part of the extended friend group, and he easily _could_ be, judging from how he’s doing with their group right now.

“So,” Marlene is saying, “Conor, how do you feel about James?”

“James is nice,” Conor says, after swallowing a bit of butterbeer.

“No, I mean specifically how do you feel about James on a date with your sister?” Marlene elaborates.

Conor frowns. “Look, my statement stands. James is nice. And Emmie can make her own decisions. I’m her brother, the only time I’d intervene would be if someone hurt her.”

“James is on a date with Emmie?” Mary asks, frowning. “How did I miss _that_?”

“You’re not the only one,” Lily says, looking equally bemused.

“Did you think Pete and I just… decided not to come with him and Remus today, or…?” Sirius asks, looking around the table. “Honestly, I’m surprised at all of you, you know we don’t have any other friends.”

“What am I then?” Marlene and Conor ask at the same time, then look at each other in surprise and point at each other across the table.

“I could be your new twin, Vance. Let me know if Emmie ever decides to quit that aspect of her life and I’ll be happy to take her place.”

“I’d be so honored, McKinnon.”

“You’re our friends, but we don’t live together,” Peter says, in answer to the question. “It’s different.”

“Technically, we all live together.”

“Technicalities are overrated, Evans. Do you see me spooning Conor in the dorms? No. We don’t live together,” Sirius explains, waving a hand dismissively.

“That implies that you _are_ spooning someone in the dorms,” Peter says. “Is it me?”

“You wish.”

“This also implies we _would_ be spooning if we lived together,” Conor says, cutting a glance at Sirius. “What a mental image.”

Sirius blushes but doesn’t reply.

“Alright, I’m tired of the suspense,” Val says, shoving her wrapped antiquity across the table at Remus. “Unwrap it.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have,” Remus says dryly. “The wrapping job on this is simply exquisite.”

“Only the best for you. I picked something out that I felt truly reflected exactly who you are, you know, as a person.”

Remus unties the twine and peels away the brown paper wrappings to reveal something that he honestly should’ve expected.

“What is it?” James asks, trying to look and see.

Remus’ response is to put on the newly unwrapped dunce cap and proceed to wear it for the rest of their time in the coffee shop, drawing stares from the rest of the customers and laughter and applause from his group.

Emmie goes next, handing the spyglass to James, who immediately puts it to his eye and says, “Cool! Now I can be a pirate if Quidditch doesn’t work out for me.” In return, he gives her a Muggle jewelry box with a little ballerina inside that actually has to be wound to play music. Emmie kisses him on the cheek after unwrapping it.

Remus and Val make mocking sounds of fake kissing at each other upon seeing it and James throws a spoon at them. It bounces off of Remus’ surprisingly solid dunce cap and clatters to the floor.

“I guess I’m last,” Remus says, handing over the lumpy wrapped object that he’d chosen for Val. “Don’t laugh, I didn’t know what to get you.”

“I mean, it can’t be better than a dunce cap, so I think whatever it is will come second best out of everything here,” Val replies, taking it and starting to unwrap it.

Within a few moments, she’s holding a mug in the shape of a smiling frog. “There’s a whistle in the handle,” Remus says, not knowing what else to say about it.

“It’s so ugly,” Val says, but she’s smiling. “Aw, I love it.”

Remus is honestly thrilled that he did so well on the gift for Val, but all he says is, “Cool.”

After about another thirty minutes of James and Emmie making eyes at each other and clearly not needing the buffer that James had so elaborately arranged for, Remus is ready to leave the coffee shop.

“Shit,” he says, glancing out the window, mostly as a way to start a new part of a conversation, “it’s raining.”

“It’s also three in the afternoon,” Val adds, glancing at a clock on the wall. “I have a D.A.D.A. essay to write.”

“Procrastinator,” Remus says, standing.

“I didn’t do it before because I have a life,” she replies easily. “Emmie, are you coming?”

“Oh,” Emmie says, jumping slightly. “James, will you walk me back to Ravenclaw Tower?”

“Yes, of course,” James replies.

“Did you think he was just going to leave you here?” Remus asks. James glares at him.

They stand and weave through the room, between crowded, tiny tables and around other students on dates or taking their studies to a different environment. Remus stops at the door, peering out into the rain, trying to figure out exactly how bad it is.

Answering the question for him, James says, “It’s not that bad. I say we go out there and run all the way back to the castle.”

Val frowns. “Easy for you to say. You’re wearing real shoes.”

“You don’t have a problem with the _running_ part of it?” Emmie asks.

“You think they don’t drill us for the team? It’s not just flying.”

“Oh!” James says, snapping his fingers. “You’re on the Slytherin team!”

Val looks at him incredulously. “Did you only just now realize that? We’ve played against each other twice this year.”

James shrugs. “To be fair, I don’t really watch the Seekers for a good portion of the match. Anyway, what do we think.”

Remus sighs. “I hate running. Also, Val is like, a foot tall –”

“Gee, thanks, Lupin.”

“Would you let me finish? She’s like a foot tall so if she falls in a puddle she’ll drown.”

“Why would I have wanted you to finish that?”

Emmie presses the sides of her hands to the glass like goggles and looks out of the slightly foggy window at the rain. “We could wait it out.”

“Or we could not,” James says. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Emmie just looks at him for a moment, then says, “Fuck it,” before pushing open the door and running out into the rain with James, their hands linked.

“Well?” Remus says, looking at Val.

“I’m going to fall and break my ankle,” Val replies. “There’s a simple solution, though. You’re tall and I weigh next to nothing. You carry me back to the castle.”

“You’re so demanding,” Remus says, sighing, but he still opens the door, steps out onto the street, and crouches down so that Val can climb on his back.

The tavern has gotten significantly more crowded as the weather has worsened, which has made Sirius more appreciative of the table that they’d claimed several hours ago. They’d thought about getting up to head back to the castle, but right as Lily had stood, there had been a crack of thunder, so they’d taken it as a sign to wait it out.

Several more rounds of butterbeers and starter dishes (being treated like communal snacks) had been ordered, and everyone had collectively decided to start paying for things instead of forcing Conor to continue to foot the bill. Sirius is fairly certain that Conor wouldn’t have complained, and instead would’ve welcomed the opportunity to do something nice for the people he spent his day with.

That’s the sort of person Conor is, Sirius is coming to realize. He doesn’t think about himself. Not at first, anyway. It’s always about his people before it ever is about him.

Despite Conor’s instinct to take care of his friends, Sirius and Dorcas, particularly, had started paying off large chunks of the tab every time they’d gone to the bar to pick up the next items that had needed to be brought back to their table. Whether or not Conor has noticed, he hasn’t said anything, so Sirius intends to continue the ruse until everything is paid.

This time, however, Lily’s decided to join him at the counter getting the next set of food and drinks. When they’d gone up, the bartender had told them that they’d need to wait a few minutes for refills, so they’d relocated away from the more crowded section. They’re standing by a bend in the bar, right by one of the windows next to the door, and it’s been opened for ventilation.

“We don’t really talk,” Sirius observes, leaning against the wall as Lily watches business booming at the bar.

“No, I guess we don’t,” Lily replies, as though she’s never considered it before. “Maybe it’s because you’re James’ best friend.”

“So is Pete, and you talk to him,” Sirius replies. “I don’t have a problem with it, we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to. Maybe it’s because you’re friends with Snape.”

Lily doesn’t respond to that.

“Where is he, by the way?” Sirius asks, craning his neck to look at their table. He doesn’t know why, it’s as though he expects Snape to have suddenly materialized there in his and Lily’s absence. “I notice you two aren’t hanging around each other as much.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “He has new friends. I don’t like them.”

“Does he like yours?”

She laughs. “Not particularly. I’m surprised he likes me, given his attitude towards the people I hang out with.”

“His attitude? What, about their parentage?” Sirius scoffs. “First of all, that’s bullshit. Second, he doesn’t have room to be superior, he’s a half-blood.”

“Oh, and you do have room to be superior?” Lily asks, a slight edge to her voice.

“I just said it was bullshit, weren’t you listening?” He looks out the window to avoid the conversation devolving into an argument and sees something that he hadn’t been expecting. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ what?” Lily asks. When Sirius doesn’t respond automatically, she steps closer to the window to see what he’s looking at. “Oh,” she repeats.

It’s just a moment. If anyone else had been looking out the window at that time, Sirius thinks they wouldn’t notice anything about what he saw on the street. It’s too hard to see with the rain and the scene isn't interesting enough to warrant intense staring. But _he_ notices, because even with the vision impairment and the noise of the tavern, he knows his friends better than he knows his family, better than he knows himself, and looking out of that window, Sirius can see someone who in unmistakably James running through the rain and holding hands with someone who must be Emmie, and someone who is unmistakably Remus moving at the same pace carrying someone who must be Val piggyback through the puddles.

For a moment, he thinks maybe he saw it wrong. Then he thinks, why would it _matter_ if he saw it wrong? Why would it matter if they’re having a good time? Why would it matter so much to him that somewhere between seeing James and realizing which one was Remus that his chest had fucking twisted?

Then he hears, through a lull in the conversations in the tavern and the open window and a lessening in the patter of the rain, the sound of his friends laughing, and he knows he didn’t see it wrong.

“Fun,” Lily says, then steps away from the window.

The bartender calls for them to come over and pick up their food.

“Yeah,” Sirius replies, frowning, gathering up a basket of chips to bring back to the table with the intention of telling Peter what he saw and wondering if it would make Peter feel the same way he did, because he thinks for the first time since making these friends he might feel like he’s been left behind, “fun.”


	24. in which the library is used for the first time all year (probably)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on a roll! new rule - upload whenever i have something finished. i'm shooting for at least twice a week, though. basically, i DESPERATELY want to get to the next year, and so i'm trying to crank the fuck through toaw.
> 
> thank u guys for all ur support. i love u <3
> 
> twitter - kaladinkholins  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Two weeks after the Hogsmeade outing, the weather has steadily continued to creep towards springtime, and with the threat of the end of the school year, Sirius finds himself roped into more intensive and structured revision time.

He blames Peter for this. It’s still nearly three months until exams, and the work that they’ve been doing for their classes isn't _that_ difficult, it’s just time-consuming. He isn't worried about how he’s going to do, and he doesn’t think any of his friends really are, but Peter just wants to do so well all the time that he has them in the library twice a week so they can be _fully focused on their study time_, as he says it.

Sirius thinks that line of thought is bullshit. He spends most of the time that they sit at a little table in the library watching James doodle on spare bits of parchment and managing to finish a few paragraphs of his essays at a time before fucking off for another hour and a half. Sometimes, Remus talks about History of Magic, because none of them (not even Peter) pay enough attention in lessons to be caught up and to have hope of passing their exams without him.

It isn't even like _Remus_ pays more attention than they do, but he certainly has an uncanny ability to read the chapter that Binns had been monologuing about in the lesson and make sense of it after the fact.

“You should start a tutorial group,” Sirius says absently, after Remus finishes layout out the timeline of the third Goblin War with the major points outlined in enough detail to flesh out their notes and let them scrape through their upcoming essay. “I mean, enough people ask you for help. You may as well just have them all ask questions at the same time.”

Remus shrugs. “What do I get out of it?”

“The joy of helping others?” Peter suggests, somewhat absently, adding to his notes. There’s a smudge of ink on his nose from how quickly he’s been writing. “We all know how much you care about that.”

“You could charge admission,” James says, folding a tiny paper airplane out of his scribbly bit of parchment. “I’m sure people would pay to see the great Remus Lupin in action.”

Remus makes a face. “That wouldn’t work. I don’t know. Maybe Sirius is right, if everything got moved to like, two hours once a week it would be easier to do other things.”

“Hey,” comes a voice directly following a light knock on the end of the shelf nearest to them, and Sirius looks up to see Val poking her head into their little alcove.

“Speaking of other things,” James says under his breath, which he immediately follows with a sharp, “_Ow_!”

Judging from Remus’ motion on the other side of the table, he’s kicked James in the shin, but proceeds to act like nothing’s happened when he says to Val, “Hey.”

She scans the group in a slightly calculating motion, then says, “Okay. I just came by to let you guys know that I’m holding up my end of the deal.”

“What deal?” James asks. Then, “Oh!”

“Sometimes I wonder where your brain is.”

“Sirius, you know damn well I don’t bring it to the _library_.”

“What did you find?” Remus asks, attention solely on Val.

Things have been… different in the past two weeks. Sirius can’t describe it any more clearly than that. It isn't like anything of consequence is happening right _now_, but Remus has been gone more often and James has been talking about Emmie more often and Sirius hasn’t felt this superfluous in a long time.

He doesn’t like it. Peter didn’t understand what he’d been talking about when he’d brought it up the other day, one of the many times when James and Remus had both been _gone_, doing who knows what with who knows _who_ (though Sirius had had an inkling), their spots in front of the fire empty and the pulse of their group dynamic feeling like it was missing every other beat.

Maybe he’s reading too much into it. Sirius hasn’t really seen either of the girls with his friends yet, he’s just noticed little things feeling off, and he’s found himself absently wondering if this is how it’s always going to be.

Still.

Sirius sees the way Remus’ attention is entirely on Val right now, even though nothing particularly interesting is happening, she’s just here to talk about something she’s learned about Narcissa, and he feels like his stomach is in knots.

Val tosses a little book on the middle of the table. It lands at an odd angle on the edge of James’ so far unused textbook and falls onto the floor next to Sirius’ foot. He picks it up, looking at the embossed words on the cover.

“‘Diary’,” he reads, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sharing your deepest hopes and dreams with us, Val?”

“You idiot, it’s hers,” she replies casually, no heat behind the words. “Give it back, I’ll show you the important bit I found.”

Val steps forward, closer to the table to reach across it and get the diary back from Sirius, and in order to shorten the distance between herself and Sirius, she deliberately steps into Remus’ space. He’d pushed his chair back from the table when she’d come over to talk to them, angling out from the edge of the table and making a v shape with the position of the chair, and she steps into that open space and practically between his legs to reach for the little book.

Sirius thinks he’s the only one who notices this, so he doesn’t say anything. He just hands the book to Val. Not that he _would_ say anything, what would there be to say?

He actively chooses not to say anything when he realizes that he’s _not_ the only one who noticed, judging from the hitching of Remus’ throat and the tiny curl to the corner of his mouth at Val’s proximity, but it only lasts for a moment before she’s stepping backwards to a more open part of the table to leaf through the diary and find the entry she’d been looking for.

It takes a minute or so.

“Take your time,” Peter says, in a tone that’s half encouraging and half teasing, “I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I did this out of the kindness of my heart, Pettigrew, the least you can do is be patient with me while I present my findings,” Val replies. “Here it is.” She clears her throat. “_Itinerary for first lunch with The Girls after Christmas_ – I’d like to point out here that both words in ‘the girls’ have the first letter capitalized. There’s a lot of honestly inane conversation topics that she’s written down here, but the important thing is at the bottom of the page. There’s a little box here that says _Remember! If anyone asks about Andromeda deflect! Big distraction topic – Sirius’ friend’s dyke parents. Write Aunt Walburga for more detail if you forgot._ Anyway, that’s that.”

There’s a brief moment of silence around the table. Val sets the diary back down on the stack of books and steps back from the table, presentation over.

“Well,” Peter says, breaking the silence. “Now we know.”

“Now we know that my _mum_ told her the shit about your family, Pete, that doesn’t make it better,” Sirius replies, arms crossed. His chest feels hollow. “If anything, that makes it worse.”

“Look, just. Did we really expect anything differently?” James reasons. “Where else did you think she got the information?”

“Thanks, James, that’s reassuring.”

James shrugs. “It’s something to think about. I don’t know. At least we know.”

Sirius thinks for a moment. “I should talk to them about it. It’s not right.”

“I’m gonna go,” Val says abruptly. “It looks like you guys have some things to talk about.” She looks at Remus. “I’ll see you later?”

“Oh,” he says, like he’d forgotten. “Yeah, later.”

“Cool,” she replies, then leaves.

“What’s later?” James asks, as though the whole conversation about Narcissa’s diary hadn’t just happened.

“None of your business,” Remus replies.

“Is she your girlfriend now?” Sirius asks, his tone half teasing, and Remus shrugs.

“I don’t know. We’re hanging out.”

“Ooh,” Peter says in a tone that sounds eerily like James should’ve been the one saying it. “How interesting. Can we please get back to what we were doing before?”

Peter had been the only one who’d really been studying, but Sirius gets the impression that he just wants to get back to it because he doesn’t want the conversation to go to Narcissa’s diary or what they’re going to do with the information they just learned.

The way Sirius sees it, they only have a few options. They could take the ‘evidence’ that they’ve gathered to Dumbledore or McGonagall or someone to get Narcissa in trouble. He doesn’t think this will pan out, though, mostly because it would probably get turned around on them. How did they get her diary? Why did they violate her privacy by reading it? Why do they think a little sentence on one page is enough to get her in trouble for gossiping?

Sirius has seen how the teachers have chosen to handle this situation with Peter over the past couple of months. They’ve been willfully ignorant at worst and bumblingly ineffective at best. Bringing the diary to anyone who could force any sort of punishment on the culprits would do nothing.

The only other feasible option Sirius can think of is the one he voices to his friends.

“We should look for embarrassing things in there,” he says, gesturing to the diary.

Peter frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Sirius, slightly self-conscious about his idea, gestures vaguely at the little book. “You know, if we find embarrassing secrets and spread them around school, I don’t know, by making copies or something, it’ll make her feel bad.”

“That’s mean,” James says, frowning like he has a problem with it.

“You wanted to make her go bald, James,” Remus counters. “This is a lot less mean.”

“Look, I just think,” Sirius interrupts, “that if we take the page Val showed us to any teachers or anything, nothing’s going to come of it. We all know how they acted when Pete was actively being targeted. They’re not going to do anything now.”

“Okay,” Peter says slowly. “That makes sense. It’s sort of… indirect.”

“What goes around comes around,” Remus says sagely. James gives him a weird look but doesn’t comment on his statement.

“This gives me something I’m actually interested in reading, though,” James says, reaching to the middle of the table for the diary, sitting on the stack of books. “I think I’ve done all the schoolwork I can manage for today.”

“You’re going to fail your exams,” Peter says, not looking up from highlighting his notes.

James shrugs. “My talents lie elsewhere.”

It turns out that James’ major talents encompass both Quidditch and detective work, as these are the two activities that take up most of his time over the next day or so. He spends the rest of the afternoon in the library poring over the diary, making notes as though he’s going to have to write an essay on the inner workings of Sirius’ cousin’s brain.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and James only looks up from his focus when the little clock near the front of the library chimes the five o’clock hour and Remus stands.

“Okay. I gotta go.”

Sirius frowns. “The moon’s not until tomorrow.”

Remus makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, but it’s more of an exhalation. “Yeah, I’m not going to see Pomfrey. Sweet of you to keep track, though. I’ll see you guys later.”

He leaves. Sirius watches him go. There’s a pit in his stomach that he doesn’t understand but that he wants to close.

“And then there were three,” Peter says dryly.


	25. in which hogwarts gets new wallpaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone - do i have an excuse for my lack of posting? no i do not. i only know that quarantine has been a bitch for my creative process.
> 
> also twitter hates me and i got sniped AGAIN. new account is @metaleaterz. idk i don't really talk about harry potter (esp with all the recent bullshit with jkr) but i talk about my chemical romance a lot <3 also i'm always just, you know, there.
> 
> let me know your thoughts my kiddos. i love you <3
> 
> twitter - metaleaterz  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

Two days before James Potter’s fourteenth birthday, Hogwarts awakens to find the hallways papered with pages upon pages of neat cursive handwriting detailing information about its student body and the author herself. The identity of said author is not difficult to discover, as whoever had embossed the cover of the diary this information had been housed in had taken the care to have each page marked across the top with _Personal Diary of Narcissa Aurelia Black_.

Breakfast is abuzz by the time Peter and his friends make their way downstairs, and to their credit, they managed to look astonished by this turn of events and surprised at the information that’s floating around the Great Hall as they make their way to their seats.

_Did you hear she sucked Malfoy off in Greenhouse Four?_

_Isn't it weird that she writes in detail about her period every time she gets it?_

_Do you think it’s true she started the rumors about Pettigrew?_

Peter glances over to the Slytherin table as they make their way to their regular spots. Narcissa is nowhere to be seen, which he supposes isn't surprising. He thinks he’d head back to his room until everything blows over if this happened to him.

Despite Peter’s empathy for how Narcissa must be feeling – it would be shit to have your innermost thoughts broadcast to the entire school – there isn't a doubt in his mind that he does not regret the decisions he and his friends decided to make. 

“Hey,” Marlene says when they sit down, and gestures vaguely over her shoulder at the Slytherin table, “was this you?”

“Was what who?” Remus replies, taking a seat across from her.

Marlene just looks at him, then turns her attention to James, who shrugs.

“Was this what you guys were doing during that super-secret joint birthday celebration you had for these ones?” she asks, pointing between James and Remus with her fork.

They’d spent the day that had fallen most in the middle of the seventeen days between Remus’ birthday and James’ eating slices of the six total cakes that Peter had made (three for each birthday they’re celebrating, with one for each year that they’ve known each other) and performing a simple yet extremely repetitive duplicating spell on the pages that James had picked out with the most interesting bits on them.

“No,” Sirius says hastily, as though he’s insulted that she had even asked that. Marlene raises her eyebrows at him. He sighs. “Fine. Yes.”

“Come on!” James exclaims, frowning. “Don’t _tell_ her, we can’t tell anyone, we’ll get in trouble.”

“What, do you think I can’t keep a secret? I’m insulted,” Marlene replies. “Your lack of trust in me is deeply saddening. Besides, anyone seeing us talking right now will just think we’re gossiping about the new wallpaper.”

_The new wallpaper_, as Marlene calls it, remains the key focus of Hogwarts conversation for the next two weeks. It gets to the point where Peter thinks that the only thing that’ll stem the flow of increasingly wild rumors and theories about what things meant and arguments taking place in the hallways of the castle will be when they go home for Easter. By the time the first week of April is drawing to a close, a working theory among the student population of the school is that all of Narcissa’s diary had been written in code and that if they broke it down, they’d be able to find out the secrets of many prominent wizarding families and Dumbledore himself.

Peter doesn’t think that’s accurate – he’s fairly certain that this is nothing more than the diary of a teen girl who’s never made a decision for herself before, but what does he know?

They’re sitting in the dorm on the first Friday of April, packing their bags to go home for two weeks, and Peter feels somehow better and worse about things than he has for a while, at least over their period of neutrality and not doing anything.

Better, because something’s been done, at the very least. Because they did something that made an effect, because he stood up for himself and his friends stood up for him, because they actually did something to make sure something to the same effect happened to someone who hurt him.

But still… he feels worse because it was vindictive and because the rumor mill had been turning so wildly and so quickly that Sirius’ aunt and uncle had come to talk to Slughorn and Dumbledore about if there was anything that could be done and to take Narcissa home a week early and Sirius had been cornered by them before they’d left.

They’d essentially told him that they thought he was responsible and that they’d be speaking to his parents about it. He’d essentially told them that there was no way to prove that he’d done anything and that he wasn’t scared of anything they had to say.

“I’m _not_,” he’d said when he’d been telling his friends about what happened. Peter hadn’t believed him then and he still doesn’t now.

He’ll never tell Sirius this. He doesn’t want to shatter any bubble of self-confidence Sirius may have as he prepares to go home. He’s been talking about saying thing to them about how what happened wasn’t right. Peter doesn’t think that’s a good idea, especially given what Sirius has said in the past about things he’s heard his dad talking about with his friends and business partners and the stories he’s told about how big family events go, especially when even something small goes wrong, but Sirius seems set on it. Peter’s not about to tell Sirius that it isn't a good idea if it’ll make it go worse for him.

Everyone seems to be more subdued than normal as they get ready to go home. Peter can only speak for himself, and he’s tired of being here. It’s not that he has anything against being at school, but these past few months have felt exhausting with every step he’s taken. He wants more than anything to be in his bed at home and to sleep for the first three days of being home.

For his friends, Peter thinks they’re all quieter for their own reasons. Sirius is worried about what happens when he goes home and talks to his family and James is tired because he was out late last night and came back wearing a huge grin and pink lipstick marks on his face and Remus is… not nearly as vocal about his own activities, but Peter has noticed him disappearing as well. The April moon is tomorrow night, though, so he thinks that has to be part of it too.

Abruptly, as James zips his bag closed, he says, “Does anyone else have any life updates they want to share?” He’s looking at Remus.

Remus looks to either side as though he’s expecting James’ clearly pointed question to be redirected to someone else, then says, “James, you already know about my medical conditions.”

“That’s old news, Remus! Give me something exciting.”

“I feel like you’re trying to get me to say something.”

“No,” James replies in a tone of fake affront, “why would I do that?”

“I had a sex dream about James’ dad,” Sirius offers.

“You _what_?” James shouts. “When was this?”

“I didn’t, actually, I just wanted to keep you on your toes,” Sirius says. “Leave Remus alone, you’re not his mum, what does it matter where he sneaks off to?”

“What if he’s doing drugs?” James reasons, crossing his arms. “Are you doing drugs?”

“You really do sound like his mum,” Peter says. He’s almost astonished. “He’s fourteen, James, what do you _think _he’s doing? Probably the same shit you are.”

“I know that!” James replies, sounding exasperated. “I just want to hear it from him. Tell me what you’re doing, I want you to confide in me!”

“I had no idea it meant that much to you, James,” Remus replies, putting a hand on his heart in a jokingly emotional manner. “Well, if you want me to confide in you that badly…”

“I do!”

“Okay, just making sure.” Remus stops for a moment to throw a pair of socks in his bag. “I kissed Val yesterday. She’s really short. It was hard.”

“Wow,” Sirius says after a beat, drawing the word out so that it sounds sarcastic, “what a challenge that must’ve been for you. I’m so sorry you had to suffer like that, Remus.”

“Shut up.”

“How was it?” James asks.

Remus shrugs. “I don’t know. It was nice. We’ve been talking, so. I wasn’t surprised that it happened.”

James seems to be waiting for the same questions to be directed to him, but they don’t come. Peter isn't surprised, particularly as James hasn’t physically been able to stop talking about the time he’s spent with Emmie over the course of the past month and a bit.

The conversation changes to what they want to do when they get home and if they think they’re going to have a hard time sleeping in a room without the ambient white noise of James’ snoring and how they’re going to manage to survive for two weeks without having anyone to hang out with and what about the Charms essay that’s due when they get back?

“It’s not due _exactly_ when we get back,” James reasons the next day on the train, still talking about it nearly eighteen hours later. “We have three days. We can spend the whole time at home without working at all.”

“Maybe _you_ can,” Peter replies. “Some of us are planners.”

“Some of us are _lazy_, Pete.”

“I don’t think you count as lazy,” Sirius says, frowning. “You wake up at six in the morning because you _choose_ to, even when we don’t have practice.”

“Come to mine for the holiday, Sirius, and you could be waking up at six too,” James replies cheerfully. “You’re all invited.”

“This is just making me never want to go to your house,” Remus says. “Not if it’s going to be like this.”

James sighs gustily. “None of you support my dreams.”

“We support your dreams. We just support our own literal dreams more than joining in on your metaphorical ones,” Peter says.

The train rolls into the station and the boys gather their bags and prepare to separate and participate in their either physical or theoretical dreams for the next two weeks. Sirius makes them promise to write even though it’ll only be fourteen days until they see each other, but as he says, _I’ll be bored out of my skull without contact and will probably be forced to do my essay rather than experience brain death, _so Peter promises to write to him every other day. He doesn’t have an owl of his own, but he’s fairly certain he can convince his mums to let him hijack the family owl for his own purposes for the fortnight that he’s at home.

His mum is waiting for him when he gets off the train. Peter frowns when he sees her standing there alone, looking surprisingly small and worried until she spots him in the crowd.

“Mum?” he calls when he sees her, and her face lights up. “What are you doing here by yourself?”

“Oh, hi, sweetie!” Mathilda replies, coming to hug him. “You’re taller!”

Peter chooses to ignore her lack of an answer to his question, instead replying, “Not really. At least, I didn’t notice.”

“I did. You notice these things when you’re away from someone for a while.”

He does notice things, being away for a while. She looks worried, tired, like how she looks after she stays up for far too long working on her latest book and only gets three hours of sleep before waking up to make him breakfast before getting back to her project.

It’s different now, though. There’s none of the excitement and satisfaction of working through the night on something she’s excited about.

“Where’s Enid?” Peter asks, more directly this time. It’s somewhat weird to call one of his parents by their first name, but it’s something they’ve tended to do in public settings. “She’s always here when I come home.”

“We… thought it would be better for you if we didn’t both come to get you,” Mathilda replies as they walk over to stand in the Floo line to head back home. “You know. Since things have been so rough for you this term. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this, by the way, my darling. You should never have had to go through something like this.”

There’s a pause.

“That isn't your fault, Mum.”

“I know,” she says. Her arms are crossed, drawing her long coat tightly around her small frame. She’s looking straight forward, her chin resolutely held high, and Peter realizes that she’s right. He is taller now.

“I wanted to see her, too,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Mathilda says, and she uncrosses her arms to take his hand and squeeze it as they stand in line. “She’s at home.”

The line moves fairly quickly, and before long, they’re spinning out of the train station and into the living room of their own house. There’s a sheet laid out on the floor to catch the ash that tumbles out of the fireplace with them, and as Peter steps out into his own house, the first thing that he’s aware of is the jingling of metal and the feel of his dog jumping on him and then there’s the sound of his mums talking to each other and he’s crushed in a hug.

“Hi,” Peter says, because that’s all he can think to say.


	26. in which remus' house is essentially a post office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! baby chapter. i hope you like it <3 also! i just want to say it looked much nicer in the word doc version because i had all the letters indented so that it was easier to read, but i hope this also works!!
> 
> i love you all -- thank you so much for all the support you give me <3
> 
> twitter - metaleaterz  
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Three letters sit on Remus Lupin’s nightstand. The one at the bottom of the stack, written in a scrawling, hasty hand, ink splotches scattered over the page as though it was scratched out extremely quickly, is as follows:

_Dear Remus,_

_I’m not sure why I’m supposed to start off with ‘dear’ Remus. It makes me feel old. Anyway, this is me, James, in case you can’t tell from my handwriting. I don’t know if you know what it looks like. Or if you can even read it._

_Anyway, I’m writing to you because Sirius said if we don’t all write to each other at least seven times over the course of the two weeks apart he’s going to lose his mind. I don’t know if he meant we only have to write to him, or if we have to write to everyone, but I don’t want to leave anyone out. My hand hurts already. I feel like I’m in school._

_Not much has happened yet, considering we’ve only been home for two days. I went with my mum to some sort of farmer’s market yesterday, and she kept telling everyone she met about how I was on the Quidditch team. It was sort of embarrassing – like, I know I’m on the team and I love it and all, but these old ladies don’t know anything about Quidditch. Also, they kept pinching my cheeks._

_I have to wind the big clock in the hall when I’m home, I don’t know if I told you. It’s sort of a weird chore. It’s been in the family for like, a million years, and my dad keeps talking about how I have to take care of it so I can teach my kids to take care of it someday. I don’t know why he’s talking about me having kids. I’m fourteen. Maybe it’s because I mentioned Emmie._

_Is it weird that we both went out with her? Well, I don’t know if you exactly went out with her, I don’t know what you’re considering whatever the fuck the two of you had as, but it was something. I know she liked you. I don’t know. Maybe it’s weird to talk about that. Maybe it’s weirder to not talk about it. I just know that we’re friends and I want to tell you everything._

_Maybe not everything. But definitely the important things._

_Write back soon – finishing up because I’m playing with my old home Quidditch team later today and if I don’t get out the door in five minutes they’re going to make me play a shitty position and everyone will laugh at me for being bad at it._

_Tell me about your time at home and give your mum a kiss for me!_

_Love, James_

The second letter, written much more neatly, with what was clearly a ballpoint pen on a sheet of notebook paper, rather than parchment, reads:

_Hi Remus,_

_James called me on Floo yesterday to remind me to send you a letter. I think he’s missing us. Don’t tell him I said that. He also said that he doesn’t think you know what our handwriting looks like, so I should introduce myself in the first paragraph. So, to appease James: hi, this is Pete._

_I guess I have some things to update you about. I don’t know, it feels like I’m writing a weather report or something. I mean, I think we should keep each other in the loop, especially since we aren’t seeing each other. Anyway. I’ll try to make it cool._

_To get it out of the way, I talked to my mums about what happened. They were all worried about me and wanting to know if I wanted to just… I don’t know, not go back? But I told them I wanted to stay. If I’d wanted to go home, I would’ve asked to get out of there a lot sooner, and plus, it isn't like people are talking shit anymore. Not really, anyway. Besides, it looked like people at school were more interested in Narcissa spreading shit than in the type of family I have by the time we went home._

_In other news, it’s really nice to be home. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you about what it’s really like here, but you should come and visit. Do you have allergies? Sirius says he’s allergic to owls, but I don’t really believe him. I think that’s stupid. I sent him a letter yesterday with Bowie, the family owl, and I’m sure he’s going to complain about his sneezing attacks when he writes back to me._

_Either way, if you come and visit (the use of the word ‘you’ could be either plural or singular here, I don’t really care) we just won’t let Sirius around the birds. I’ll show you and James the chickens, though. We also have cows and sheep, which is half of why we have Domino. The other half is because he’s the best dog in the world and I love him more than any of you._

_(I stuck a picture of him in the envelope – I hope you like it)_

_I hope the moon was okay for you when you got home. I know you said before that it’s harder when you go to someplace new, or at least different from where you’ve been for a while. I’m sorry you’re having to go through that. I wish there was something we could do to help._

_Tell me about how things have been for you! I hope the weather is nice and that you’re doing alright – can’t wait to see you again but I’m sure we’ll speak endlessly over the holiday as Sirius seems insistent on maintaining constant communication with all of us._

_Call me on Floo anytime – missing you and the rest of the boys lots!_

_Love, Pete_

The third and final letter arrived this morning, written in a marginally neater hand than the first one, but not nearly as structured as the second. Remus, reading it, had attributed its condition to the speed at which the contents were scribbled out.

_Remus –_

_Not even bothering with a ‘dear’ here or anything. You know we’re friends, and I have too much to say to worry about an extra word. Then again, writing out an explanation for why I’m not including an extra word has taken up more time and space than simply writing the traditional introduction, so,_

_Dear Remus,_

_We had a big family dinner last night. Sort of a ‘the kids are all home, let’s have an excuse for the family to get together so the adults can get drunk and drop gossip and scathing remarks about Sirius’ grades.’ I don’t know if that was the original intention, but it certainly came up._

_This is Sirius, by the way, in case you couldn’t tell. James’ letter said that he thinks you can’t. I think you’re smart enough to figure it out, but I don’t know, maybe I’m giving you too much credit. :)_

_Anyway, I came here to tell you about the dinner. I’m in my room now – it was at the manor house and we just got back. I swear, it seems like I have some bullshit story about my family every time I come home. Andromeda and Bellatrix weren’t there – clearly Andromeda wasn’t invited and it seemed like Bellatrix just didn’t want to come, so it was me, Regulus, our parents (Orion and Walburga, in case you forgot), Cygnus and Druella, Narcissa, and Alphard. I don’t know how well you remember the names. Look up the family tree if you’re interested enough, it’s public record._

_Anyway. I was an idiot. I decided in the middle of the second course that it was totally safe and logical course of action to bring up the situation with Pete and Narcissa and the bullshit that had clearly been going on. I’m gonna give you a rundown of how the conversation started:_

_ SIRIUS: So, I noticed something interesting in the many copies of Narcissa’s diary pages that were strewn around the halls of our school before I came home yesterday._

_ REGULUS: oh my god Sirius shut up_

_ NARCISSA: Sirius why would you bring that up it’s so rude of you that’s my personal stuff_

_ SIRIUS: I don’t care about what you get up to with Lucius. I care about you spreading rumors about my friend and making people be mean to him for nothing._

_Needless to say, the dinner table erupted into chaos. Narcissa threw a spoon at my head. I got shouted at by Druella for ‘invading Narcissa’s privacy’, by Cygnus for apparently providing proof that it was me who revealed her secrets to the school, by my mum for bringing this up in the middle of a perfectly nice dinner, and by my dad for acting ‘like an infant instead of my heir’._

_So that blew._

_The rest of dinner was fine, I guess. We just sort of sat there and ate. Eventually it got back to normal, but shit happened again when we were home._

_Obviously, my parents decided that they didn’t want to talk about it in front of the others, and that it was a matter too private to even discuss in front of the other members of the family, but that my behavior was so fucking abhorrent that they needed to sit me down in the parlor and tell me, in detail, about how unacceptable my choices were._

_I didn’t really listen. Some shit was said. Long story short, I’m stuck in my room for the rest of the two weeks._

_I didn’t really think it was that bad. All I did was say that I thought it was bad that Narcissa had spread shit about Pete. I said as much when my mum asked me what I had to say for myself, and she told me that I needed to understand that some things just aren’t right, and that if we knew about them, it was our duty – she fucking said duty, like we were witnessing a crime or something – to make sure people knew what was going on. I said I didn’t think that was right at all, and that there was nothing wrong with how Peter’s parents live their lives, that he has two mums who love him a lot and it’s better than not having that, and that at least they’re happy, and my dad said that I needed to get my line of thinking together and that if I thought this was okay then maybe I needed to rethink my commitment to the ancient and most noble House of Black._

_I got mad over it and probably shouted and said some things I don’t really remember._

_Anyway. That’s why I’m in my room. Probably until we leave to go back to school. God, I never thought I’d be so bored by being by myself. I might even do my Charms essay at this point._

_I’m not telling Pete what my parents said. I’m just telling him that it didn’t go well and that I don’t agree with them. I’m sending James the more detailed version of what happened so that he’s up to date too, but I think it would just make Pete feel bad. That’s the last thing I want, but I wanted you at least to know what happened._

_I don’t know why. I think it’s because you’re good at making sense of my thoughts sometimes. You know, when there’s a lot going on._

_I think I just need to be told it wasn’t stupid of me to say anything. That even though it blew up in my face it was because I was trying to do the right thing. I knew they weren’t going to listen to me and that it would probably go badly. I know I probably should’ve sat down with my mum and asked her about it calmly rather than poking at something Narcissa was clearly still upset by with her emotionally over-the-top parents sitting right there. I don’t need you to tell me that was the wrong way to go about it. I know that._

_I just want to hear that maybe I did the right thing, overall._

_Okay. That’s all, I think. Maybe it was good that I said we should write to each other all the time while on holiday. I think I’ll lose my mind without it._

_Talk soon._

_Love, Sirius_

Remus has never been one to remember to answer letters quickly, but the responses to these are winging their way to their intended recipients nearly immediately. Maybe these two weeks will help him to break his bad habit.


	27. in which three out of four marauders get their kisses in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a writing goal. not gonna jinx it by saying it here. but i have a plan.
> 
> this chapter was for the girls (chloe) and the gays (lex) only <3 i love u guys <3 also jamie and sachi but this was a clex love letter in a chapter <3
> 
> twitter - metaleaterz  
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“So here’s the plan,” James says the minute after they’re all sitting down in a compartment to head back to school on the Hogwarts Express.

“Oh?” Remus replies dryly, rummaging in his bag and sounding like he’s only half paying attention. “You’ve figured it out already? Do enlighten us.”

“No need to be rude, Remus. _You_ don’t actually have to listen, this plan is for me and Sirius.”

Sirius looks up at that. He’s been a bit subdued since they all met up at the station and headed onto the train, but James is attributing this to being stuck in his room for the majority of his time at home. James doesn’t know how he’d deal with that – he thinks that if he hadn’t been able to go out and play Quidditch at least every other day during his time away, he’d lose his mind.

He’s relayed these sentiments to Sirius, which is why he knows that Sirius will understand the urgency of his plan, which he then begins to reveal.

“Look,” James says. “I know we have exams coming up.”

“Well done,” Peter replies, laughing a little bit. “Did you do your Charms essay?”

“No, I did not!” James answers cheerfully. “I will be doing it the night before we have to hand it in after spending the next two days antagonizing the rest of you until you allow me to read yours! Anyway, that’s not my point.”

“What is?” Sirius asks. He’s next to James on one side of the compartment, mostly lying down on the bench with his shoulders propped up on the wall beside the window, his knees bent so that his legs form a little triangle. James is sitting within that triangle, one of his arms resting on top of Sirius’ knees where his legs are tented over James’ lap. “I don’t see why we really need a game plan going into exams. Especially one that Pete and Remus aren’t involved in.”

“No, no, no,” James says, shaking his head. “It’s not about exams. It’s about Quidditch.”

“Oh,” all three of his friends reply, all with varying degrees of emotion to their tones. Sirius speaks with interest and sits up more fully, tugging a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes; Peter says it like he’s trying to be nice by pretending that he cares enough about the subject to at least act like he wants to hear more, for the sake of his friends; and Remus replies dismissively, as though hearing the word _Quidditch_ was what he needed to hear to know that he can stop paying attention.

“You see,” James continues, turning to Sirius more fully so that they can strategize. That’s at least what James hopes will happen. “We have two matches left before the end of the year. You know this.”

Sirius’ attention on James is fucking rapt. “I know this.”

“Right, and it wouldn’t really be that big of a deal, you know? Because Slytherin’s team has been shit this year, so that game is an easy win.”

“And our game against Ravenclaw is the decider, since we’re neck and neck,” Sirius says, nodding.

“Or, more appropriately, broom and broom.”

Remus looks up from rummaging in his bag. It’s been several minutes and he’s yet to pull anything out of it, so James can’t imagine what he’s actually searching for. “Broom and broom? What the fuck is _broom and broom_?”

“Yeah, like neck and neck, but for sports,” James answers sagely. “I coined the term. Anyway, the match against Ravenclaw is the decider.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sirius asks. “I already know.”

James shrugs. “Background information for Pete.”

“Aw, how sweet of you,” Peter replies, somewhat absently, from across the compartment. He’s taken out a camera and has started fiddling with it.

James blows a kiss to Peter – which Peter manages to catch on film with a quick snap of the camera – and says to Sirius, “Also, I didn’t know if you’d forgotten. It seemed like you had a rough holiday, you know, from your letters.”

Sirius shrugs but doesn’t elaborate. James doesn’t press him, instead continuing, “Anyway! I wanted to tell you about something that I heard while I was at home.”

“It’s about Quidditch?”

“Please stop beating around the bush,” Remus says suddenly. “The suspense is starting to get to me.”

James laughs a little. That hadn’t been his intention. “Long story short, apparently M.G. overheard her aunt talking about something they’re setting up for next year. Some sort of Quidditch thing. I don’t know, almost like a big competition? I think there might be other schools involved.”

“Really?” Sirius asks. “How did she hear that?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m sure she’s going to tell us. McDougal sent me a note about it.”

Sirius frowns. “He didn’t send me one.”

“And that was rude of him,” James acknowledges. “But the important thing is, I think the better we do at the end of the year, the more likely it is that we get to be a part of the big thing next year.”

“_The big thing next year_,” Remus interjects. “Are there _any_ details or is this just a rumor?”

“I mean, if it’s supposed to happen next school year, I’m sure there _are_ details,” Peter reasons. “Just that no one’s supposed to know them yet.”

“The point is, I wanted to tell you in person because I didn’t want anyone else in your house knowing about it, because if more people know then our chances are worse.”

“No one else in my house plays Quidditch, James,” Sirius says. “Who’s my brother going to tell? He doesn’t know the team. And it’s not like they’d believe him without proof, anyway.”

For a moment, James wonders if Sirius is simply neglecting to say that _he_ doesn’t believe James without proof, but then he remembers that there’s no way Sirius would think that.

There’s a pause. Then, Sirius says, “Are you sure you’re not just making this up in an elaborate attempt to get me to play better so that we have a higher chance of beating Ravenclaw?”

James at least manages to put on a face of affront. “No! Sirius, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know if _Gregor_ was telling the truth, but I believed him.”

“Hmm,” Sirius replies. “I think you just want to beat Conor Vance.”

“You’re too nice to him,” James says, instead of indicating whether or not Sirius is correct.

He doesn’t miss the delicate blush coloring Sirius’ cheeks at that statement, but he sure as fuck doesn’t know what it means, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Despite what his friends think, James _does_ know how to be quiet about things. He thinks this is something that all four of them have learned over the course of their time together. Yes, they’ve learned how to be quiet about _obvious_ things, like who was behind the Narcissa-themed wallpaper and where Remus goes every month, but James thinks that they’ve also learned how to be quiet together. They settle into a companionable silence for a while as the train carries them north, and James, who normally fills the lulls with every single thought bouncing through his head at any given moment, decides that when he’s with his friends, he doesn’t mind it being quiet nearly as much as he would if he was by himself.

They get back to school and the next few weeks are a blur. None of James’ friends will let him read their Charms essays so he alternates between complaining about doing it himself and managing to convince Dorcas to help him. This results in several afternoons sitting with the girls in the library at the table across the way from the one he normally sits at with his friends, dutifully ignoring Sirius making dumb, silent faces across the room in an attempt to get him to laugh (it only works three times). Sometimes Peter comes and sits with them too, leaving Remus and Sirius on the other side of the library, and James takes a small triumph in it. At least one of his friends doesn’t want him to be isolated from the regular group.

James and Sirius have Quidditch practice on two mornings and three afternoons during the week. The match against Slytherin is _embarrassingly_ easy and now with just one match left against Ravenclaw and with the way the points each team has gathered are looking, the availability for using the pitch has increased noticeably. M.G. McGonagall and the Ravenclaw Captain, Inglebert Haywood, seem to have come to an agreement where if Gryffindor has the pitch in the morning, it’s Ravenclaw’s in the afternoon, and vice versa. So far, things have been remarkably amicable between the two teams.

That hasn’t stopped Conor Vance from fucking grinning at James and Sirius when he passes them in the hall. James doesn’t know what he’s planning, but fuck, it seems like he’s seeing Conor _everywhere _now. Before, James thought it wasn’t that bad, they had some lessons together and they’d pass each other in the halls, but now it’s almost like Conor is intentionally trying to run into them.

This isn't exactly helped by the fact that James is going out with Conor’s sister.

To be honest, James isn't really sure about how exactly that happened, he and Emmie had just gone out for that Hogsmeade date and hadn’t really stopped spending time together. He likes Emmie a lot. She’s nice and she’s fun and she’s a lot easier to talk to than any of the other girls he’s liked in the past – not that he’s liked that many, but maybe it’s easier with Emmie because she actually likes him back.

He likes kissing her a lot, too, but he doesn’t want to embarrass her by talking about it too much. Besides, Remus has been spending a lot of time with Val, so he obviously knows everything that James would possibly have to say, and Sirius sort of lost interest in hearing about Emmie after probably the second or third time James talked about her. He talks to Peter more often actually, and usually tends not to feel like he’s talking too much or being embarrassing or anything, but James thinks that’s mostly because Peter’s a genuinely good listener.

James idly wonders if this could be because Peter’s trying to gather advice for himself, but he doesn’t know who Peter might be kissing. No one, as far as James can tell.

He gets a sense that the end of this year is heading towards being significantly more hectic than either of their previous years at Hogwarts. More often than not, James finds himself sitting with just Sirius in the evenings, as with their Quidditch schedule and their friends being busy and everything, they always seem to be a little split up. Remus always seems to have disappeared to kiss Val or do work on his own because having his friends around and talking seems to be disrupting his thought process or to head up that History of Magic revision group that he’s just started, and Peter has taken to monopolizing one of the few round tables in the common room with Mary, spreading out their books and papers and organizational study materials and working on their revision for several hours every day.

James walks over one afternoon to ask Peter if he can borrow his notes on different tea leaf pattern meanings for Divination study and overhears Mary talking about how much she likes Peter’s organization system. He raises his eyebrows and takes the appropriate notes and makes his way back to the usual spot where Sirius is sprawled over the sofa.

“Did you see that?” James asks, nudging Sirius’ legs off the sofa so he can sit in the now-empty spot. Sirius, who had been most likely pretending to read, puts his notes down and stares at James.

“Did I see what?”

“That,” James repeats, gesturing at Peter and Mary. Sirius sits up and looks over the back of the sofa, squinting in their direction.

“They’re studying,” Sirius replies dryly, turning his head to look at James again. He leans against the back of the sofa, his cheek pressed against the fabric and his eyes slightly narrowed. “What I see is a pair of students that are far more responsible than we are and will likely get better results on their exams.”

“Don’t you see how close they’re sitting together? They have a whole table. Why are they sitting like that?”

Sirius shrugs and turns fully back to a normal sitting position on the couch. “I don’t know. They’re friends. Or maybe they like each other. Mary’s nice.”

“So is Pete.”

“Yeah, JP, that’s a given. I’m just saying, it would be nice for him. I think.”

Sirius’ jaw seems a little more set than usual when he says that. James gets the vague sense that something is bothering his friend, but he doesn’t bring anything up. He knows well enough by now that when Sirius wants to talk about it, he will.

It’s the evening after the next, on a Friday night when everyone seems to have something to do or somewhere to be besides Sirius, that James figures it out.

“I think he feels left out,” he says to Emmie as they walk around the lake that evening, the sun setting in the distance and the air just starting to smell like summer. Her hand is in his and James had never really thought his hands were particularly _big_, but hers is so small that it makes him feel like he’s holding onto something delicate. “Everyone’s out with someone besides him.”

“That’s surprising,” Emmie comments lightly. She hops onto a sort of large rock in the way like it’s a stepping stone and steps daintily to several others in sequence instead of walking on the ground.

“Why?”

“James, I don’t know if you notice this, you’re a boy – and don’t be offended when I say this, it’s just a fact – but Sirius is quite good-looking. That’s why it’s surprising that he’s the only one out of you not out with a girl.”

“_I’m_ good-looking,” James replies, slightly miffed despite himself. “And I don’t know that he’s the only one not out with a girl. Pete never actually said what he was doing, just that he had _plans_.”

“I know you’re good-looking,” Emmie replies, squeezing his hand a little bit more tightly as she steps down from walking on the rocks. “I did take that into account when we started going out. You know, just a bit. Besides, what are we meant to do about Sirius not having a date? Invite him out with us? Don’t get ideas from that.”

Emmie’s shoes don’t have much tread on them and rocks by lakes are notoriously slippery, so James is ready to catch her when she slips, her foot skidding on the rock and sending her off balance with a little _oof!_ of shock.

“Watch out,” James rushes out. He wishes his cheeks weren’t so warm and that was less aware of his arms, wrapped tightly around Emmie’s waist, and hers, one hand clutching onto his shoulder and the other gripping his wrist just above the hand that had been holding hers a moment before. Fuck, he’s glad that it’s dark enough that she (probably) can’t see him blushing.

“Good catch,” Emmie replies, a little breathlessly. She’s looking up at him. Her eyes are bright and she has a little smile on her face and he can feel her heart beating against him.

“I know,” James answers, not able to look anywhere else but her. He isn't just talking about preventing her from falling.

He’s about to kiss her when something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.

“…James?” Emmie asks, almost hesitantly after a moment.

James has two options when it comes down to it – he can pretend to not see anything, or he can grab Emmie’s hand and pull her over to behind the big tree so they can peer around it and visually eavesdrop on the pair ahead of them.

He barely hesitates, a grin forming on his face, before _shh_-ing Emmie and pulling her behind the tree. She lets out a tiny sound of shock again, almost like when she slipped on the rock, but they’re behind the tree in no time, and James is craning his neck to look around the trunk.

“Look,” he says, pointing, voice hushed, by way of explanation.

Emmie, to her credit, does look, but her expression remains blank. James comes to the conclusion that not everyone can recognize the silhouettes and walking pace of his friends as well as he can. He supposes that he shouldn’t have expected Emmie to be able to identify either of the people they’re observing, as she isn't particularly close with them.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Emmie asks finally, looking up at James, vaguely puzzled but mostly amused.

“It’s _Pete_,” James says, almost forgetting to keep his voice down. “Look, he’s on a _date_! That’s Mary! Good for him!”

“Oh,” Emmie replies, smiling at him, not even looking at Peter and Mary, her attention solely on James. “You’re acting like he’s your son or something.”

James shrugs, slightly embarrassed suddenly. “I don’t know. I love that kid. He’s basically my brother.”

“I know,” Emmie says softly, still looking at James with something in her eyes that James can’t quite place, but that he can tell is nice, and she steps back to lean against the tree and wait for James to finish his spying, her pinky linked in his.

Peter and Mary stop walking, and as James watches, Peter oscillates a little bit in place, looking like he’s figuring something out. Mary laughs, clear and bright. As if that was what Peter was waiting for, he steps forward and kisses her, soft and quick and light.

“Yes!” James whisper-shouts, genuinely surprised that he managed to not let that come out at full volume.

“Good news?” Emmie asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah,” James replies, stepping away. “I’m proud of him.”

He resolves to needle Peter into revealing his secret kissing history later, but lets Emmie pull him away from the tree and the lake so they can find somewhere to be more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally enraged that lex and jamie made me include the part about broom and broom. but it's in there.


	28. in which sirius "fraternizes with the enemy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> babes. this is the second to last one. i'm moving to another state on saturday, so my goal is to finish writing this by then - not sure if i will post it before but i'm hoping to have the whole of toaw done before i go! i have no idea how this one is so long - i looked back at ahmicb and realized that this is like 12 chapters longer, which is wild to me! half of this chapter was written at 4am yesterday, the other half was written this afternoon in a blur of brain activity caused by two iced coffees and loudly blasting my chemical romance. apparently this is the only way i can get my brain worms to function.
> 
> there's lots of quidditch in this chapter. which was hard for me as i am not a jock. i'm sorry if u guys are not fans of that but it is very dense due to me completely forgetting to write in anything about quidditch for the rest of toaw. there r also hints of several relationships (both current and potential) which is fun. good bits in there for fans of the vance twins, i think, especially if you've paid attention to repeated things they've said over the three fics in this series :) <3
> 
> anyway, i hope you guys enjoy! we are in the home stretch! the last chapter is planned out and will be done and out very soon!!!
> 
> i love you and thank you for your support, as always.
> 
> twitter - metaleaterz  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

The morning of the last Quidditch match of the year is warm for the season, the air thick and slow-moving. Sirius can’t think of anything other than how fucking miserable it’s going to be for everyone in the stands, and while he’s counting his blessings that he’s going to have the added benefit of flying to keep the air circulation going, he’s anticipating having to tune out a lot of Remus’ disgruntled remarks about the weather after the match.

It’s not that Sirius is really surprised that Remus is complaining. He has, in general, a lot to complain about, so Sirius can give him a bit of leeway. It’s Saturday, and exams start on Monday. The moon had come and gone on Thursday, so Remus even being out of the hospital wing for their match is a bit of a miracle.

Despite himself though, despite knowing all of these things, Sirius finds himself wanting to tell Remus to shut up and just not come to the match if it bothers him so much.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to start something right before a match. James will tell him that he needs to focus and get his shit together if he and Remus start arguing, and Sirius doesn’t want that either.

Sirius doesn’t know why he feels so much… pressure, almost. He isn't sure if that’s exactly what the sick feeling of unease somewhere behind his throat is, but he feels on edge. He’s felt on edge since he came back to school.

He hadn’t told his friends in a lot of detail about how spectacularly shitty his holiday had gone. Sirius feels like something got fucked up when he tried to stand up for Peter at the family dinner. Shittier than normal, that is. It hadn’t been exactly fixed by the time he’d left for school again.

Regulus has been shooting him glances in the hallways and has tried several times to catch Sirius alone and talk to him the entire time that they’ve been away from home. Sirius has never been more glad that he and his brother are different Houses and that his days are completely filled with practices and schoolwork and that even if they weren’t, he could find something to do with someone who isn't Regulus.

His mum sent him a letter last week. Sirius still hasn’t opened it.

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid of what it says. He doesn’t know if he’s been throwing himself into Quidditch and his exam revision and anything else that will keep him busy and prove that he’s doing the right thing so that if he opens the letter and it says something… along the same lines as how it was when he was at home, he can counter it with a _but look how well I’ve been doing_.

Whatever. If Sirius doesn’t open the letter and he doesn’t talk to Regulus and he doesn’t tell his friends about how fucked things actually got at home, then he doesn’t have anything to worry about. He can handle himself; all he needs is for this match to go well.

Sirius isn't worried about the match not going well. He’s been playing extremely well all year – this isn't even him bragging, it’s the truth. He knows he’s been playing better than he’s ever played before. This is partially due to being on a real team with a real structure of practice and real strategies rather than the bullshit league he’d play in over summers when they’d go to the house in France and everyone else thought they were hot shit.

(Sirius had been a little bit afraid that when he’d tried out for the team, he’d have a rude awakening and discover that he, in fact, also thought he was hot shit but wasn’t, but clearly that hadn’t been the case.)

On top of Sirius playing better this year than he ever has and continually feeling himself improving, the rest of the team has developed a kind of seamless, smooth teamwork that Sirius is a little bit in awe of. He and James are the newest members of the team, and Sirius had been a little worried that they’d have a bit of trouble finding their places among an established dynamic, but within a few weeks – by their first match, in fact – it had felt effortless. James’ relationship with the other Chasers, fourth year Abigail Horlacher and sixth year Gideon Prewett, started strong from the trials and has continued to flourish over the year. Sirius and Gideon’s twin brother, Fabian, as the two Beaters, had to work a bit harder to establish a team dynamic, as after a few practices they’d learned that their techniques had some key differences, but at this point they’ve figured out a system that plays to both of their strengths. The rest of the team, comprised of their captain, sixth year M.G. McGonagall as their Seeker and fifth year Gregor McDougal as their Keeper, are extremely strong and adaptable players who hadn’t had any difficulties at all in enveloping the two new players into their fold.

Sirius wonders how next year is going to go. By the time it’s this time next year, they’ll be an even more established team than they are now, and he feels like they’ll be quite formidable. They already are, but who knows what they’ll be capable of then?

Then again, the points are so close at this point that Sirius is more concerned with _this_ year than the next.

James seems to be as well. For all of his talk about how this match is going to be setting up their potential to be part of whatever the fuck M.G. had heard her aunt talking about over the holiday, James seems far more preoccupied with this morning than with anything else.

Something Sirius has learned about James over the course of this year, particularly in playing Quidditch with him, is that when James gets nervous, he gets quiet. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and if he’s sitting, his right leg won’t stop bouncing. At the same time, James likes to have people notice when something’s wrong, so Sirius asks, “You alright?”

James, sitting next to him at the big Gryffindor table, the Great Hall loud and rambunctious and full of people who won’t stop talking, gives Sirius a twitchy little shrug of his shoulder and sighs before answering, “Yeah.”

The shrug means no, but Sirius would only really be concerned if James had indicated that verbally.

They’re sitting with the team, instead of with their friends, and it’s weird to look across the table and see Abigail sitting next to Fabian, rather than Peter next to Remus. It gets somehow weirder still when Sirius feels a tap on his shoulder and hears from behind him, in a decidedly more nervous tone than normal, “What’s up, Gryffs?”

Sirius turns around quickly; he hadn’t heard Conor walk up, so suddenly having the other boy behind him is a bit unnerving. “Conor, hey.”

James turns as well, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Vance. What are you doing here?”

Conor waves to the rest of the Gryffindor team before responding – none of whom seem as bothered as James is, Sirius isn't surprised, the relationship between the Ravenclaw team and their own has so far been fairly peaceful. Competitive, but amicable. “I just wanted to come and say hi. Big match today, so I just wanted to wish you lads luck and to tell you that even after we beat you today, we can still be just as good friends.”

“We aren’t friends,” James replies. His arms are crossed.

“Really?” Conor raises his eyebrows, looking amused. “We talk quite a lot for people who aren’t friends.”

“Coincidences,” James says dismissively, waving a hand through the air as though to swat away Conor’s offer of friendship. “I’m going out with your sister. You’re friends with Sirius.”

“You know, I thought you’d be more resistant to that as a concept, JP,” Sirius replies. He and Conor aren’t _exactly _friends, they’ve never spent any time together outside of a group setting or for particularly long, but Sirius likes Conor. He’s just surprised James isn't actively against it.

James shrugs. “Look, as long as you don’t replace me or anything.” He pauses, then continues, grimacing, “Alright, fine, I _am_ resisting it. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell Sirius who he can be friends with. If he wants to fraternize with the enemy, that’s his decision.”

Conor grins at Sirius, and Sirius, taking a sip of his tea, chokes. For the life of him he can’t explain that, but he clears his throat as Conor says, “Well, since Sirius and I are friends, and even if _we_ aren’t, James, I just want you both to know that after we win, we’re having a party in Ravenclaw Tower, and you’re welcome, if you’d like to be there.”

“Thanks,” Sirius says, his throat finally clear of the offending tea (it must have been too hot or something, what’s wrong with him), rushing to speak before James has a chance to be rude to Conor again. “That’s really cool. And, you know, when _we_ win, you’re welcome to come to ours instead.”

“No, you’re not,” James interrupts.

“Ignore him,” Sirius says. “He’s rude. That’s not going to go over well with your girlfriend, you know,” he adds, directed to James.

“What’s not going to go over well with his girlfriend?” Sirius hears, and he looks around Conor to see Emmie walking up with Val. Val stops to make Peter scoot over just slightly in order to sit down next to Remus, practically in his lap, and Sirius rolls his eyes at that before devoting his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Being rude to your brother,” Sirius says to Emmie as she approaches, decked out in an outfit that’s mostly blue with a little red bracelet but is comprised of no official school articles of clothing, which Sirius can respect.

She leans down to kiss James on the cheek, and when she straightens up, she says, “I’ve gotten used to it.”

“See, Sirius, some people accept me for who I am.”

“Some people expect you to be better.”

“Alright, Mum,” James replies cheerfully. “Anyway, Vance, I fully intend on making every single shot I take at you today, so I hope you’re on your game.”

There’s a shout from the Ravenclaw table. Conor looks over at that, grinning still, and raises a hand in acknowledgement. “Shouldn’t you be hoping I’m _not_ on my game? If I am, you’re not likely to make _any_ of them.” He starts to walk backwards, heading back towards the Ravenclaw table. “We’ll see how it goes on the pitch, Potter. Bye, Sirius.”

“Bye,” Sirius replies. Emmie glances at him. His cheeks feel warm. “What?”

“_Bye, Sirius_,” Emmie repeats, in a vague approximation of her brother’s cadence. She seems to be laughing at some sort of private joke. “Nothing. I just came to wish you luck, James. I’m not picking sides, not really, but I hope you do well, and either way, I’ll see you after the match.”

She kisses him again, this time on the mouth. Sirius fake-gags and looks away.

“Alright,” M.G. says from across the table. Sirius has never been more thrilled to have a reasonable and well-timed interruption to the James-and-Emmie show. “Potter, keep your mouth to yourself, it’s that time.”

Sirius stands hurriedly, ignoring the sight in his peripheral vision of Emmie touching James’ face gently and saying, “Knock ‘em dead,” before kissing him one more time, quickly, and almost skipping along the table to meet up with Val.

The teams leaving the Great Hall and heading out to the pitch is succeeded by both loud cheers and a mass exodus following them. Sirius had sort of hoped that there would be a bit of quiet on their trip down from the castle, but that’s apparently not going to be the case. It’s almost a relief when they’re about to head into the tent to change into their Quidditch robes and get their brooms set.

Sirius looks over his shoulder, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his friends; he thinks he sees Remus’ curly hair somewhere near the bottom of the stairs to head up to the stands. A hand is stuck up in the air near Remus, accompanied a moment later by a small, blond, jumping figure that Sirius recognizes as Peter.

“I love you!” James shouts from next to Sirius.

“I love you, too!” comes Peter’s faint reply. Sirius laughs before heading into the tent.

If he’s being honest, Sirius doesn’t completely remember M.G.’s pep talk before the match. The next thing he’s fully aware of is James bumping their elbows together right before they walk out onto the pitch, brooms over their shoulders, Sirius’ Beater’s bat clutched in his right hand. He thinks he’s more worried about this match than he was for their very first one, which he isn't sure makes a whole lot of sense.

Before the first match, he was excited to prove himself. Now, though, he’s tense and a little jittery and feeling an odd tight knot in his stomach at all the eyes on his team now that they _have_ proven themselves.

The match starts. The commentator is a sixth year Hufflepuff, Penelope Speck, who’s been the voice of the matches for nearly her entire time at Hogwarts, and Sirius has come to take a certain bit of comfort in the familiar tones of her voice as he kicks off from the ground. The Bludgers are released, and then the Snitch, and then Madam Hooch blows her whistle, and the Quaffle is thrown into play.

Sirius gets a fierce thrill of pride as James snatches the Quaffle immediately and shoots up the pitch towards the Ravenclaw goalposts.

He doesn’t know how the brains of other players work during matches; all Sirius knows is that when he’s flying, he’s operating totally on autopilot. James scores the first goal of the match after three attempts, managing to sneak past Conor and rocketing back up the pitch with a brilliant grin on his face and the roar of the crowd in his ears. Sirius is somewhat bothered by his hair getting a bit too long and falling in his eyes when he changes direction, but that’s a problem for future Sirius to have to remember to deal with.

Five minutes later, Ravenclaw’s Maria Cavanaugh scores a goal for their side, despite Gregor’s valiant attempts to block. Sirius sends a Bludger to Fabian, who whacks it towards their Seeker, Alexa Gamble.

This may be the most evenly matched and intense game of Quidditch Sirius has ever played. More than an hour into the match, Gryffindor has scored four times and Ravenclaw has scored five. M.G. calls for a time-out, Sirius thinks more to let them catch their breath than anything else, and they get ten minutes.

“Hey,” comes Peter’s voice from behind Sirius, and he turns around, to see him accompanied by Remus. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” Sirius replies, grinning and out of breath still, in the middle of stretching out his arm. He wonders vaguely if he should learn to use his other arm as well; it would be weird to have one arm that was more toned than the other, wouldn’t it?

Remus tosses Sirius and James water bottles. “Tight match.”

“I’m surprised you noticed,” James says. “You hate Quidditch.”

“Hard not to,” Remus replies. “Notice, I mean.”

“It’s a bit harder when you’re spending the match kissing Val,” Sirius says. He doesn’t know why he says it. He really shouldn’t have, it wasn’t necessary, but he saw it when he was passing the section of the stands that his friends always sit in, and it had irked him that Remus hadn’t been paying attention.

Remus at least has the audacity to pretend to look surprised. “What?”

“I’m not stupid, Remus,” Sirius sighs. “We can see things when we fly by, you know.”

“He what?” James asks, frowning. “Mate, that’s not cool.”

“You weren’t sitting next to them,” Peter mutters.

“Sorry,” Remus says, after a beat, cheeks pink. “That was shitty. I’ll stop.”

Sirius is surprised enough at Remus’ actual apology that the irritation drains out of him. He throws his now-empty water bottle at Remus’ head, and he catches it easily. “Can you do me a favor to make up for it?”

Remus pauses before answering. “What is it?”

“Go ask your girlfriend or one of the other girls up there if they have a spare bobble,” Sirius replies. He gestures vaguely at his hair. “It keeps getting in my face.”

Remus snorts. “You need to cut that, Sirius.”

“Fuck you,” Sirius replies, but doesn’t put any heat behind the words. “You don’t get to tell me what to do after you didn’t pay attention to the first hour of our big match.”

Remus rolls his eyes and leaves to go back up to their part of the stands. He returns two minutes before they have to head back out onto the pitch, a bobble looped around his wrist.

“From Marlene,” he says, flicking it in a slingshot-like motion at Sirius, who tries and fails to catch it.

Sirius has to get Peter to help him gather the front and top part of his hair into a sort of weird ponytail that sits on top of his head. He has no idea what it looks like, but he gets the vague sense that it’s somewhat similar to a fountain.

“Be honest, do I look stupid?” he asks James as they walk back onto the pitch.

James cocks his head at Sirius appraisingly. “No. But I think it would look nicer if it was longer.”

“Hmm,” Sirius replies, almost like an afterthought. “Maybe.” They kick off and the match continues.

It takes another hour and a half for the match to end. At this point, the scores are so tight (120-110, to Ravenclaw) that the only way to get ahead and beat Ravenclaw out for the Cup is if M.G. catches the Snitch and quickly. Sirius hits Alejandro Bryant with a Bludger when the Quaffle isn't _technically_ in play and Ravenclaw is awarded a penalty shot. Gregor saves it, though, so it doesn’t really matter, Sirius just gets shouted at in passing by M.G., and nothing else comes of it.

Abigail scores the next goal of the match, tying the score, and less than a minute later, M.G. abruptly begins a sharp, fast dive, Ravenclaw’s Alexa Gamble hot on her tail. There’s a brief, intense, thirty seconds of play where all four Beaters are circling around the two Seekers, sending both Bludgers back and forth in a frenzied flurry, before Alexa pulls away, veering off course from one of Fabian’s shots, and then M.G. shouts something, and the stands explode with noise.


	29. in which four boys know how to look at the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well kiddos. here we are. finally at the end of toaw. this one was a rough one. a lot of emotional turmoil happened for me personally over the course of writing this one. very excited to be done and to be moving on to our next fic in the series!
> 
> the initials for this one are ooacaf. if you guess what it is you get extra points <3
> 
> thank you all for your patience and support in my process of writing this. thank you for leaving kudos and comments on all the chapters. thank you to my friends for helping me in gathering ideas, listening to my complaints, letting me read to you, and putting up with my lack of content. i complain about you but i love you.
> 
> special thank you to jamie. i know we had a lot going on this year but i want to make sure you know i am always grateful for your support and happy to have you around. without you this would not be a thing so. as always. thank you and love you. <3
> 
> i love you all very much, please feel free to talk to me anywhere if you would like to!!
> 
> twitter - metaleaterz  
instagram - emmakmarie  
tumblr - siriusorioff

At this point, Peter isn't a stranger to parties.

He didn’t really think he’d get used to them so quickly, but now he thinks that was kind of naïve of him. The only consistent parties every year that they can always count on are the one at the end of the Quidditch season, when the winning House throws a rager, and the Halloween ones, but after this year, when it seems like everyone but Peter has a birthday while they’re at school and they’ve thrown some sort of illicit celebration, Peter’s come to know what to expect.

Despite this, he hadn’t exactly been prepared for the blatant and explosive ego-inflation that would be happening at the celebration directly following Gryffindor’s win of the Quidditch Cup. Peter had expected the fucking rager that would be taking place in the Gryffindor common room, but he hadn’t actually prepared for the vision of his friends getting swept away on the shoulders of their admirers as soon as they’d gotten off the pitch.

He and Remus had been left standing with the girls from their year, who are genuinely great company but are also _not_ James and Sirius, watching half of their group get carried up to the castle with the rest of the team, and Peter had felt an odd sense of melancholy about it that he hadn’t been able to entirely place.

Now, though, sitting on the steps to head up to the dorms with none of his friends around him, Peter can fit the melancholy from earlier into a definite slot: he’s never felt left behind like this before.

“Hi,” he hears, and he looks up from gazing, without focus, into the party crowd to see Mary standing in front of him.

“Hey,” Peter replies.

Mary has a little stripe of red on one cheek and of gold on the other, and she’s still wearing one of the jumpers that their year had put together – all of the girls, along with Peter and Remus, had gotten jumpers made in Hogsmeade in the style of the Quidditch uniforms, either with _Potter_ or _Black_ across the shoulders and their corresponding numbers on the back. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are bright and Peter scoots to one side of the step he’s perched on so that she can sit down next to him.

“Are you okay?” Mary asks, sitting down. “Remus was asking about you.”

Peter frowns. “Was he?”

“Yeah, he said he couldn’t find you.”

“I’ve been over here for an hour.” Peter shrugs. “I guess he didn’t look that hard.”

Mary looks over in the direction that Peter can only assume is where his friends are. “He only just got back; I think he was bringing stuff from the kitchens.”

Peter doesn’t really believe that, not after knowing Remus for three years, but he doesn’t think Mary really has any reasons to tell him anything other than the truth.

“Thanks for coming to sit with me,” he says instead, and she leans against him. It’s a tight fit on the step, with two of them now.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Both of them go quiet, the muted buzz of people talking and laughing and music playing from the party, more centrally located farther away from them, filling the space between them.

They haven’t talked about… _this._ Peter doesn’t even know what this is. They started revising for exams together a few weeks ago because none of his friends seemed to care as much as he did about actually doing well – everything just seems to come so _easily _to James and Sirius, and Remus has always been independent when it comes to his revision – and Mary had been looking for someone to study with. He can’t even pinpoint exactly when he started _liking_ Mary, it was just something about how he got more comfortable with her and they started talking about his photography and her writing and his dog and her cat and she’d never, not once, asked him about his family, but had listened when he’d actually _wanted_ to talk about it.

Peter hadn’t even wanted to talk about it to his friends, not really. He knows they’d meant well when they’d asked him about how he was doing and had tried to similarly hurt anyone who’d hurt him, but he hadn’t felt like it was fully right. He’d mostly just wanted them to leave it alone and to not make such a big deal out of everything.

Mary hadn’t pressed anything from him, and she hadn’t made him feel like he was weird for having two mums. Talking to her had been easy, and she’d helped him figure out what he was having problems with when it came to theory in Charms that he just wasn’t getting and they’d gotten into a habit of going on walks around the lake after revision sessions to clear their minds and one day he’d asked if he could kiss her.

She’d said yes.

“You know,” Mary says, at the exact moment that Peter begins, “Do you think –”

“Oh, sorry,” she laughs. “Go ahead.”

Peter isn't even sure what he was going to say. He thinks he might’ve been trying to talk just to have _something_ to fill the air. “Do you think we should go and find the others?”

If Mary looks just a touch disappointed, it’s such a small hint of emotion that Peter thinks he’s imagining it.

“Yeah, okay,” she replies, standing and holding out a hand for Peter. “They’re over on that sofa you and your friends always seem to claim.”

Taking her hand, Peter stands, smiling a bit. “You know, I’m friends with _your_ friends, too.”

“I know,” Mary replies. They haven’t let go of each other’s hands, but neither of them say anything as they start to make their way over to the boys’ spot by the fireplace. “There’s just that divide sometimes.” They let go of each other.

Finally reaching the sofa, Peter sees far more people than he’d been expecting.

He hadn’t thought that James and Sirius would be finished receiving their laurels from every single member of Gryffindor House by now, but there they are, James in one of the armchairs with a string of red tinsel that someone must’ve conjured or unearthed from a Christmas box somewhere tied in a loop and placed haphazardly on his head like he’s a king and the armchair is his throne, and Sirius, too-long hair tied up halfway by another length of said tinsel perched on the back of the sofa, socked feet on the cushions below and legs between Marlene and Lily. Remus is on the floor, back against the sofa in the spot where no one’s legs are, due to Sirius’ precarious position.

Remus tilts his head back against the sofa cushions as Peter walks up, then disentangles the hand that’s not holding a drink from Val’s hand – Peter looks around and clocks not just Val, but several non-Gryffindors in their circle, noticing Conor (still in his Ravenclaw jumper, sitting on the arm of the sofa with his elbow resting on the back close to Sirius), Emmie (sitting on James’ lap), and, most distastefully, Snape (on Lily’s other side, looking deservedly uncomfortable) – and raising it to wave to Peter, a little grin on his face that to Peter, who knows Remus extremely well, is like jumping up and down in excitement to see him.

“Hey, Pete, we missed you,” Remus says, and then points to the other armchair, which is completely unoccupied. “We saved you a spot.”

“Oh,” Peter says, and he hates that he feels a little blush tingling over his cheeks at the attention from everyone, but the warmth is dissipating the melancholy inside him from earlier, so thinks that now, at least, it’s better. “Thank you.”

They sit there for at least another hour and a half, talking and joking and drinking and making fun of each other. It isn't until the party is starting to die down, though, and Snape has left after James threw one too many bottle caps at his head, that Peter comes to a decision.

“So,” he says, sitting up straighter in the armchair. Mary, sitting on the arm of said chair, looks down at him with interest. “My birthday is over the summer and I never get to do anything for it because we’re never together, so I want you all to come to my house for a party.”

Sirius, who has now slid down from the back of the couch to sit on the cushions and is trying to stack as many pretzels as he can manage on Remus’ head without him noticing, turns to look at Peter. He shakes his hair, which has fallen out of the now-lost length of tinsel that had been tying it up halfway, out of his face. “Weren’t we already going to do that?”

“Yeah, but now I mean everyone here is invited.”

“Wow, the entirety of Gryffindor House?” Remus asks dryly. “Are you sure your mums are going to be okay with that?”

“Shut up,” Peter replies, kicking a foot out in Remus’ general direction as he has nothing on hand to throw. Remus vaguely waves a hand through the air as though to bat it away, even though neither limb truly came within reach of each other. “Do I have to name names? I mean everyone sitting _here_, in the circle.”

“Oh, I see, so that’s why you waited for Snape to leave.”

“Thank you, Marlene, you’re the only one here with the power to observe anything.”

“I can observe!” James protests, rather loudly, from the other side of the circle. His tinsel crown has been stolen by Emmie and repurposed into a smaller, taller, daintier one, and she’s taken over his seat. James, now sitting on the floor below the armchair, looks up at Peter with slightly narrowed eyes. He seems like he’s focusing very hard. “I’m observant. I’m a Quidditch star.”

“And humble, too,” Lily says. James doesn’t notice.

“You’re not the only Quidditch star in the circle, James,” Sirius interrupts. “Conor is sitting right here.”

“Oh,” Conor says, his voice bright. He looks over at Sirius, who grins at him quickly before going back to stacking pretzels on Remus’ head. Peter gets the distinct impression that Sirius is trying to focus on something inane to avoid meeting Conor’s eyes for longer than a brief moment. “That was so nice.”

Sirius shrugs. Conor looks away from him and over to Peter, and asks, “So… we’re invited? Even though we’re – I don’t know.”

“The enemy?” Val supplies from the floor. Remus still hasn’t noticed the pretzels, but Val has been making eye contact with Sirius every so often and they seem to have come to an understanding that she will (telepathically? Peter has no idea how they plan to do this) indicate to him what the next best course of action would be in the stacking moves. “We all know about that Gryffindor wolf pack mentality.”

“The what?” Remus asks, moving his head suddenly as though he’s doing an almost double take, and the pretzels come falling down around his face. “What the – Sirius, how long have you been doing that?”

Sirius, laughing, replies, “I don’t know, like an hour. You don’t move a lot.”

Val rolls her eyes. “The wolf pack mentality. You’re all territorial as _shit_, it’s like one big clique.”

“Oh,” Remus says, visibly relieved. Peter tries not to laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

James snorts, meeting Peter’s eyes and then Sirius’ across the circle. “Smooth.”

“Shut up, James.”

Another hour and a half after Peter’s mass invitation to his house for his birthday and the subsequent effort he’s had to extend in convincing his (suddenly larger) circle of friends that his parents will be alright with not just a massive group coming to stay with them but a _co-ed_ one, he and his friends vacate the dying party and head upstairs to the window seat by Peter’s bed to cram onto the cushions and look out at the stars.

This is something that they’ve done, somewhat infrequently, but often enough to become a group event, for the entire time that they’ve shared this room. It used to be far more convenient and easy for four boys to squeeze onto the window seat back when they were eleven, but now they’re all long limbs and sharp elbows, full of swearing and stolen drinks and emotions that none of them know how to talk about.

At least, Peter thinks, they all know how to look at the stars together.

He’s sitting on the left side with Sirius, closest to the windowpane; James is right across from him, working to open the window, with Remus across from Sirius, only one long leg tucked onto the cushion with the other dangling off. The night breeze fills the room once James gets the window open, and Peter, as always, takes a deep breath and lets it out, feeling the world around him still a bit.

“Don’t fall out,” James says, jokingly but gently, and Peter kicks him lightly.

Most of the time, when they look at the stars together, they’re quiet. Peter is comfortable being in the stillness with his friends; he finds it calming. Now, however, they’re only quiet for a few minutes before Sirius says, “I didn’t tell you everything that happened when I was home.”

“You don’t have to,” Remus says immediately, and Sirius looks at him with an expression that Peter can’t quite read. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” Sirius says. “I just. I don’t know how to say it.”

James frowns deeply. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says. He tilts his head back to lean against the wall, looking up, his hair falling away from his face. “It’s just. Okay, I told my parents that I didn’t think it was right, what happened with Pete’s mums. With the whole Narcissa thing and all. You know that. It was a big thing at the family dinner.”

He pauses. Everyone waits.

“I should kind of start over. I told Remus what happened. Vaguely. I didn’t tell Pete or James because I thought they’d just get upset.”

“That’s okay,” Peter says, touching Sirius’ knee lightly, at the same time that James replies hotly, “Well, I’m upset _now_!”

Sirius rolls his eyes, sighs, tugs a hand through his hair and looks decidedly at his lap before continuing, “Look, it was – basically, my dad said that I needed to be very aware of how unnatural behavior like that is, because if I wasn’t, and I thought that was okay…”

“Then what, Sirius?” Peter asks softly. “What would happen?”

Peter isn't bothered by what Orion Black has decided to say about his mums. He stopped being bothered by what other people thought after the whole debacle of this year. Now, he’s more worried about how it made Sirius feel than anything else.

“He said that if I thought behavior like that was okay, then I needed to rethink my devotion to the ancient and most noble House of Black, because if I ever decided that it was acceptable enough to be around or. Whatever. If I couldn’t figure out my _devotion,_ then maybe I wouldn’t have something to devote myself _to_.” Sirius stops, then sort of laughs and says, “Which is fucked up, I mean, who says they’d disown their own kid? I’m not even gay, but he doesn’t even want me to be nice to people who _are_.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh,” James says finally, eloquently. “Shit.”

“Comforting as always, JP,” Remus says lightly, elbowing him.

“Shut up, he knows we have his back.”

“Does he?”

“I know,” Sirius interjects.

“You can always move in with me if things go to shit,” James says, and Peter can tell it’s only half-jokingly.

“Thanks, James.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter offers, when there’s a little lull. Sirius looks like he’s still thinking about it, and like maybe there was more to what happened, but it probably took a lot for him to say anything at all. Peter doesn’t want to press the issue.

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “It was just shit, you know?”

Peter glances over at Remus, who has been fairly quiet the whole time, but he doesn’t speak about anything else that’s been said, aside from gently teasing James. Peter supposes that if Remus already what Sirius’ dad had said, they’d probably already had a conversation about it.

“Are you going to be able to come to my birthday?” Peter asks quietly, after a moment, and Sirius almost jumps at the question.

“Of course, I will,” he replies, his voice much firmer than it had been a minute ago. “I don’t care if they say no, I’m not even going to tell them, I’ll say I’m going to James’. They like him, he’s a nice, respectable, extremely pureblood boy, _even if he is new money_,” Sirius adds on the end, in a tone that Peter, who has only met Sirius’ parents a handful of times, can immediately recognize is meant to be an imitation of his mother.

James laughs at that, getting all giggly in the way he does late at night, and Remus sort of smiles in a tired way, and Peter feels them settling into a much calmer state than they’d been in earlier in the night.

It’s amazing, really, he thinks as he sits in the window, all their knees bumping together, absolutely no one sitting completely comfortably, how much feelings can change over the course of a short amount of time. Peter doesn’t know how he feels about most things – everything is constantly up in the air, what with school causing a snarl of anxiety to root in his brain and how he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on between him and Mary and how his friends all seem to have something going on without him that makes him feel like he’s just _there_, like he’s left behind, and how everything had blown up for his parents earlier in the year – but at this moment, right now, he feels safe.

“I wish I was a deer,” James says, looking out the window. “I just saw one on the edge of the forest. I think it would be nice.”

“It probably would be,” Remus replies, leaning closer to the window to try and get a look, “because if you were a deer we could run around in the forest during the moon.”

“Oh?” Sirius asks. “Why’s that?”

Remus shrugs. “I’m only dangerous to humans. Animals are fine.”

“Huh,” Peter says, nodding. There’s a tiny, almost nonexistent seed of an idea in his brain at that moment. “I think it would be cool, too.”

None of them know how to turn into animals or Apparate or even tell the whole truth. Peter isn't even sure if any of them know how to pass all of their exams this year. But, he thinks again, sitting on a window seat with his friends, at least they do know how to be together and to look at the stars.


End file.
